Miles Apart
by Sassenach082
Summary: What if Dean had led a different life before roping Sam into helping him find John? Follows through the pilot and season one. Part One of my "Another Life" verse. AU. *UNDER REVISION*
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**: Wow, so, I wrote this when I was like . . . fifteen? And holy bejesus, does it need to be revised and there is a lot of shit that needs to be changed. Especially since so much from MTAF affects this story. Anyway, bear with me here, guys. This entire story is getting a massive overhaul. I'm seriously considering just rewriting the entire thing and starting over from scratch by reposting a new version of the story.

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing. Except my OCs, of course, but they don't come in until later.

**Edited**: 17 NOV 2013

* * *

**Lawrence, Kansas  
**November 2, 1983

Mary Winchester smiled down at her six-month-old son, bending her head to nuzzle her nose against him and delighting in the bright smile she got in return. He was precious, all chubby cheeks and dimples and wispy brown hair. Her four-year-old trailed behind her, tiny feet padding across the hardwood floor.

He was _supposed _to be asleep, but she supposed she couldn't fault him for wanting to make sure his little brother was okay. Ever since they had brought Sam home from the hospital, he'd been obsessed with helping her with the baby, playing with the baby, and taking care of the baby. It was nice, that her boys got along as well as they did. She could only hope that it carried on into the future.

"Say goodnight to your brother, Dean," she said with a smile, eying her son and the way he froze with eyes as wide as a deer caught in headlights. A moment later he grinned bashfully and tried to stop pretending he wasn't following her; instead, he raced right up to her. She scooped him up, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, and he beamed at her before he stretched down into his crib and kissed the baby on the top of his head.

"G'night, Sammy," he said fondly.

Dean was getting heavy. She kissed the side of his head and lowered him back to the floor, running a hand through his brownish gold hair and pondering taking him in for another haircut soon. Maybe this this time John would be home from the garage early enough to do it himself, which Dean always seemed to love.

John was in the doorway observing the scene. He offered his wife a fond smile when she noticed him, and Dean followed the line of her gaze. His face lit up like a Christmas tree as he raced forward with a delighted cry of, "_Daddy_!"

"Hey, Dean," John said with a smile, scooping him right up. He was getting heavy but he wasn't too heavy to lift or carry around, not quite yet. With a little bit of careful maneuvering he settled Dean mostly against his shoulder and kissed the side of his head, bending to kiss his wife as she walked by. He appreciated the sway of her hips for a moment before he refocused his attention to his youngest, who was cooing up at his mobile.

"'Night, Sam," he murmured, reaching out to flick the lights off. "Come on, monkey, let's get you back in bed where you belong," he told Dean, rubbing his stubbled cheeks against his son's and making him laugh.

"Aw, but _daaaaaaaad_," the little boy complained, but he was grinning.

Quiet fell on the Winchester house, Dean fast asleep in his fireman themed room, head tucked safely against his fire-engine red sheets. The faint hum of the television came from downstairs, and in the master bedroom, Mary Winchester stirred, pulled from a sound sleep. She blinked sleepily, squinting at the time and then the baby monitor beside the bed, where she could hear Sam making noises. She clicked on the light a moment later, cringing against the bright light while she reached her hand out to search for John, but he wasn't in bed with her.

"Probably checking on Sam again," she sighed as she climbed out of bed and made her way to her baby's nursery. Sure enough, her husband was standing with his back to her, staring down at the baby. Sometimes he got in these weird moods, leftover from his time in the Marines, and he would just marvel at their children and their general existence. It was actually a little bit adorable.

"John? Is he hungry?" she asked quietly, not wanting to disturb them.

John glanced briefly over his shoulder; she got a faint line of his profile and his finger pressing into his lips in the universal sign of _shhh_.

"Okay," she murmured with a shrug, heading back to the bedroom for some much needed sleep. A flickering lamp caught her attention as she frowned, her mind briefly transporting back to—no. No, that was impossible. Her brow furrowed when she recognized the flickering lights downstairs as the TV still being on, and rolled her eyes a bit because her husband had forgotten for the ten millionth time to turn the stupid thing off before he came upstairs.

She huffed and walked with a purpose, fully intending to turn it off and then give her husband an earful. When she got the landing, it took her a full ten seconds to process what she was seeing.

John, asleep in the recliner with the remote still in his hand, the TV flickering through scenes of Vietnam, and her stomach bottomed out _because someone was upstairs in her baby's nursery._

Panic seized her as she remembered, she remembered so much so quickly as she spun, as she sprinted for her son's room with a frantic gasp of, "_Sammy_!"

The man turned towards her, and she caught his eyes in the light and she _knew_, she knew what was going on and the terror pulsed through her because she should have known, she should have known this would happen and this day would come. She should have protected her sons, she should have warned John, oh god, oh god Sammy, and Dean, and _John_—

It was him.

Pain blossomed.

She screamed.

/

John jerked awake at the sound of Mary's scream, his battle-honed reflexes having him up off the couch before he was even consciously aware of his actions. He took the stairs two at a time, franticly crying, "Mary! _Mary_!"

In a full panic he crashed into Sam's room, looked around, and let out a sigh of relief because the nursery was empty. Sam was in his crib, wide awake and babbling as babies did. He reached down, trailed his fingers over baby-soft skin.

"Hey, Sammy," he murmured tenderly.

Sammy cooed softly and kicked his feet, clenched fists swinging in the air.

John frowned when something dripped onto the blanket beside his baby's head. He looked at it curiously as he trailed his finger through it. It was warm, and familiar.

The liquid dripped onto the back of his hand. With a frown, he trained his gaze upward in confusion until fell backwards on the floor in horror.

His wife was on the ceiling, she was _on the ceiling_, with blood blossoming from her abdomen, eyes wide and full of pain and terror, mouth open in a soundless scream—

"Mary!" he screamed, leaping to his feet and reaching for her, only to dive to the floor again when fire blossomed around her form, surged towards him with searing heat, and the room was on fire. Sam was crying, screaming as the heat assaulted him, fat tears sliding down his face.

His son, he had to get his son outside, now.

John scooped him up and ran out of the room, curling his torso protectively over Sammy, shielding him from the heat and the brightness.

Dean was running down the hall when John came out of the nursery with flames licking at his heels.

"Daddy, what's wrong?" Dean asked, horrified by the scene behind his dad, by the heat of the fire, the brightness of it, the sharp, acrid scent of smoke. "Daddy?" he said fearfully, his voice wobbling as he realized there were tears on his father's cheeks.

John placed his baby in Dean's arms and shouted, "Take your brother outside as fast as you can. _Now_, Dean! Go!"

The little boy didn't argue. He clasped his baby brother to his chest and ran for the stairs, careful not to trip and fall as he raced down them, hauled open the front door and ran onto the lawn. The grass was cold and wet on his bare feet, his brother a warm and crying weight in his arms. He stopped and turned around in time to watch the upstairs windows on that side of the house explode from the heat, hungry flames rushing out the window into the night sky.

"It's okay, Sammy," he told his baby brother even as his voice wobbled in fear because his mom and dad were still in there, and fire was bad, it was _bad_—

In the nursery, the flames had become a solid wall, a strange and unearthly laugh pulsing with the flames. John screamed in desperation because he couldn't get through the door, he couldn't get through the heat to his wife, and as he scrambled backwards, he saw it—he saw the silhouette in the shape of a man as the terrible laughter started up again, and he realized his sons were outside, they could still be in danger, even as his heart was shattered and the part of him that had been entwined with his wife died forever, because he was too late. He'd been too late, and he knew his wife was gone, gone forever, and _something had taken her from him_.

Dean watched the smoke billowing from the windows with tears on his own cheeks, voice raw from calling out for his parents, and he yelped when strong arms scooped him up and carried him away from the house. He just clung to Sammy and to his dad and cried, because his mommy wasn't with him, and he knew what it meant even though his dad wouldn't tell him.

The fire department arrived and put the flames out, leaving a hollowed-out blackened room where Sammy's nursery had once been. John sat on the trunk of his Chevy Impala, Dean pressed against the length of his thigh and clinging to his side. His arm was resting over his son's shoulders, keeping him there, solid, real, alive. Sam was cradled in his other arm, quiet in sleep now, even as the remnants of their lives continued to glow and burn in the Kansas night.

John looked up at what was left of the house, revenge burning in his veins.

And so, it began.

* * *

**Singer Salvage Yard  
**March 9, 1984

Bobby Singer was a bitter middle-aged man with no family, and John was no psychologist but he could see the same pain in the grizzled older man that he saw in himself. The same pain of loss, of losing his soul mate, of losing half of his heart.

He told the grumpy bastard his story anyway, told him he'd been looking for someone to explain everything to him for _months_.

The old coot had flat-out told him he'd been asking the wrong questions to the wrong people, and set about correcting all his misconceptions and teaching him what he really needed to know.

About hunting, about the creatures of the night, about demons and spirits and all kinds of things that John wouldn't have kicked up in his wildest imagination.

"What did you say your wife's maiden name was again?" Bobby grumped one day, Sam asleep in a port-a-crib in the kitchen while Dean sat beside him quietly building with Legos that the old grizzled hunter had dug out of the attic the day before.

"Campbell," John supplied in a suspicious tone, because the question was completely out of the blue, as was Bobby's pinched expression at the name. "Her name was Mary Campbell, her parents were — "

"Samuel and Deana Campbell," the older man finished for him, pulling his hat off to shove a hand through his hair as he exhaled slowly, eyeing the former marine with a measuring look.

"How did you know that?"

Bobby sighed and said, "Not every day two hunters show up brutally murdered on the same day and their daughter vanishes into the night. Especially when those concerned belong to one of the oldest hunting families around. Even four years later, it's something I hear about all the time. Word is they were killed by some kind of demon."

"I saw it," growled John, fiercely, so fiercely that Dean flinched from beside the crib and looked up at them with fear-filled eyes.

"You sure?"

"Positive. It was in the nursery. It . . . I could hear it _laughing_."

"Damn," Bobby sighed, palming his face. "Alright, alright, fine. Fine. You and me, and these here boys, we need to go on a road trip."

John's expression pinched. "Road trip? What the hell for?" he demanded, somewhat angrily.

Bobby gave him his very best _do not shit with me _expression and harrumphed grumpily. "There are some people you need to meet, _that's_ what the hell for. Some people, part of an, uh, organization, you might say. This life, it's good to have backup, people you can rely on."

He just stared at the older man who had become his mentor after the past through months. "A road trip," he repeated slowly.

"A road trip," Bobby confirmed. "To Wyoming. Pack your shit, we leave in ten."

* * *

**Thunder Creek, Wyoming  
**March 8, 1984

"This is fucking _insane_," John bit out angrily, slamming his hand down on the table. He couldn't believe Bobby Singer had just dumped him with these people without so much as a fare-thee-well, couldn't believe Singer had abandoned him with these hardass hunter assholes who thought they knew everything.

"This is _how we work_," the _signore_ roared in return, slamming both fists down hard enough to shake the table and knock over their glasses of water. "Damn it, this already cost you your wife, do you want it to cost you your kids, too?"

"Don't you dare tell me how to raise my kids. My kids are perfectly safe with Bobby!"

"Who is _not their father_. You need to get your goddamn head on straight. Just racing in blindly, thirsting for revenge, that is going to get your stupid ass killed."

John ground his teeth audibly, already regretting agreeing to this. "I refuse to have a partner. I won't do it," he snarled.

"Fine," the _signore_ snarled back. "Then you check in three times a month, you keep us posted on what you find and if you find a way to track this thing. It might not be just your family, Winchester. One of our own lost his own wife in the same way, left him widowed with a girl and two boys. We do this together, as a team." Blue eyes met hazel in a challenge that John lost. "Three times a week, or I send someone to put you down. You risk exposure to us all in your current mental state."

"Fine," he half-shouted, accepting the leather-bound journal the taller man was holding out for him.

The _signore _was just as mad. He gestured at the door and barked, "Now get the hell off my property, asshole."

"Good riddance," John grumbled, stomping out the door and taking great satisfaction in slamming the damn thing behind him in that blue-eyed asshole's face.


	2. Chapter 2

**Stanford University  
**Present Day

"Sam, get a move on, would you? We were supposed to be there like fifteen minutes ago."

"Sam!" Jessica called, exasperated. "You coming or what?"

Sam Winchester stuck his head through the doorway to make a face at his girlfriend of two years, Jessica Moore. "Do I have to?" he asked.

"Yes," she informed him, giving him a smile. "It'll be fun." He walked over to her, and she smiled again. "And where's your costume?"

He made a noise like a half-laugh, half-snort and looked at her. "You_ know_ how I feel about Halloween."

As it turned out, the Halloween party Sam was being forced to attend was loud, dirty, packed with booze, and full of a bunch of idiots in costumes. But Jessica seemed to be enjoying herself, so he put up with the chafing and tried not to smirk at the men dressed up in 'demon' and 'ghost' costumes. It was so far from the real think they were pathetic.

That was how he found himself at a table with Jess and his friend Roy, with a few glasses of booze and Jess toasting his excellent test scores and his chance at a full ride to law school. He wasn't surprised when Roy wanted to press the subject of his family.

"How does it feel to be the golden boy of your family?" Roy asked.

Sam fixed his eyes on the table. "Ah, they don't know," he said, trying to keep his voice light, but obviously not succeeding due to Jess's face expression.

"They don't know?" Roy hooted. "I would be gloating! Why not?"

With a chuckle, Sam threw a cheese puff at him. "Because we're not exactly the Brady's."

"And I'm not exactly the hardy boys," Roy scoffed. "More shots!"

"No," Sam and Jess protested together, but their friend just ignored them and stumbled off into the crowd anyway – to get _more_ booze.

"Look, seriously," Jess said as soon as he was gone, "I'm proud of you, and you're going to knock them dead on Monday and you're going to get that full ride. I know it."

"What would I do without you?" he asked in wonder.

"Oh, crash and burn," she said, before leaning across the table to kiss him.

Roy came back, tray piled high with booze. Sam rolled his eyes and Jessica laughed. "Roy, do you honestly think you can drink this much?"

"Maybe," Roy replied with a smirk. He sat down with a thump and elbowed Sam in the ribs. "So what's up witcha family, man?"

"Your speech is slurred," Sam pointed out, grabbing the booze and putting it on the table behind him.

"Sam!"

"Okay, okay, fine," he sighed, shifting uncomfortably. "My dad…well, he's kind of an ass. And my older brother is cool enough, I guess, but he's an ass, too. When I left, my dad was pissed, okay? And my brother wasn't exactly peachy about it either. Dad left for his job, and Dean…he's been flying solo, so far as I know. I haven't seen dad or Dean in almost three years now."

"'S too bad," Roy sighed, slumping on the table.

Jessica smiled at him. "You okay?" she asked, brushing her hand down his cheek.

Sam forced a smile. "Yeah. I just don't like talking about my family. Or Halloween."

"Then let's go home," she sighed. Sam grinned and followed her out the door.

That night Sam was asleep beside Jessica. He was awakened by a soft thump from their laundry room, and his eyes snapped open to full alertness.

He crept out of bed, and leaned around a corner, the light illuminating his face. The window to the laundry room was halfway open and the door was, too. _Someone was in their house_. Snapping to full marine mode, he crept forward silently to flatten himself against the wall, listening to the door creak open.

A man's silhouette passed through, and for a slight moment, he thought he might have known the guy, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was getting him out. When the man was in front of him, he lunged forward to hit him on the back.

His opponent was faster than he had anticipated, and spun to face him and knock his hands aside. It was clear in an instant he was facing another master of hand-to-hand combat. He twisted free of the hold and spun quickly when he was shoved forward, slamming his foot into the man's chest.

The man grunted and fell back before retaliating with full-out attack. A blow landed on Sam's face, and he paused, glaring, before lunging up with foot raised, only to be blocked by the arms of his opponent. They spun, faster and faster, grunts and yells echoing through the silent house, tripping over furniture and shoving each other into walls.

Then, before he could blink, Sam's feet were flying from underneath him and he was pinned to the ground. All he could do was stare when Dean's face came into the light above his.

"Whoa, easy, tiger," Dean suggested mildly, hand still on Sam's throat.

"Dean?" Sam gasped.

Dean laughed shortly and grinned.

"You scared the crap out of me!" Sam yelled angrily.

"_That's_ because you're out of practice."

Sam grabbed his wrist, yanked him down, brought his foot up to kick Dean's back, and shoved him over, switching their positions so that he was dominant.

"Huh, or not," Dean corrected himself, patting his brother's arm. "Get off me."

Pulling his brother to his feet, Sam demanded, "Dean, what the hell are you doing here?"

"I _was_ looking for a beer," Dean replied, brushing off Sam's upper arms.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Sam repeated; he could feel his face going cold and heard his voice – as cold and hard as a rock in winter.

"Okay, alright – we've got to talk," his brother amended, face-to-face with him, though he was four inches taller than his older brother.

"Uh…the phone?"

"If I had called, would you have picked up?"

Sam remained silent.

"Twice I called you, Sammy. With the most important news of my life – and my own family can't even be bothered to pick up the damn phone." Dean pulled a white envelope out of his pocket and held it up in front of his face. Sam squinted in the poor light and was able to make out Dean's name on it. "This, Sammy, is one of the reasons why I'm here."

He remained silent.

"Open it," Dean demanded, glaring right into his little brother's eyes.

Sam glared back but didn't reach up to grab it.

"Just open it, damn it!"

"No, Dean."

"Fine." Dean snatched it back. "Not that you really deserve to know or anything, anyway." He tucked the envelope back inside of his pocket, green eyes blazing with anger.

"Important news?" Sam hedged, curious now.

Dean wordlessly glared at him.

Sam realized that Dean was being dead serious, and that the news must be major. "I'm sorry, Dean," he said softly. "I didn't know."

"Exactly. You wouldn't have. Because until you get past your foolish, stubborn, pride-filled ways, you will _never _be happy, and until you accept your past, accept who and what you are, you – "

Sam lifted a fist and let it fall when he saw his brother's cocked eyebrow. _Go on, do it_, he seemed to be silently taunting, _I'll just kick your ass from here to Kansas. _"I swore, Dean. Ne-"

The light clicked on. "Sam?" Jess said, looking between the two when their heads spun to look at her at exactly the same time.

"Jess," Sam exclaimed. "Dean, this is my _girlfriend_, Jessica."

"Wait, your brother Dean?" Jess asked.

Dean nodded but his expression didn't change. Instead, he gave Sam a quiet level look that made most men squirm in their seats. "What was with the emphasis on 'girlfriend', Sam?" he said mildly. "Although I must say…you are _completely_ out of my brother's league." He looked her up and down thoughtfully, as one might look at a dog or a tree.

Sam did his best to control his temper and try and piece out why the hell else his brother would be there besides for a beer. And he was suspicious over Dean's apparent lack of interest, though his brother was so good at lying, he could convince the devil he was actually God.

"Just, let me go put something on," she pressed.

"Oh, no, I wouldn't dream about it," Dean said easily, flashing her a cheeky grin.

Now Sam was _really _suspicious. Had his brother gone gay or something?

That startled a brief laugh out of Jess, before she looked over Dean's shoulder and saw Sam's face. She frowned and suddenly found herself wondering what Dean was doing there…at three o'clock in the morning.

Dean cleared his throat and turned away from her. "Anyway, I need to borrow your boyfriend here and talk about some private family business, but it was nice meeting you."

"No," Sam said simply, moving to stand beside Jess in a protective manner. "Whatever you're going to say you can say in front of her."

"Okay." He turned to face them. "Um…Dad's hasn't been home in a few days."

Sam had to hold back the groan of disbelief. "So he's working overtime on a Miller time shift. He'll stumble back in sooner or later."

Dean pursed his lips and dropped his chin to his chest briefly before lifting it again and meeting Sam's gaze with intense eyes and a smirk. "Dad's on a _hunting_ trip, and he hasn't been home in a few days."

At the words Sam froze. Jess glanced up at his frozen face. "Jess, excuse us. We have to go outside."

Sam chased Dean down the apartment stairs, going into orbit over his brother's nerve. "Come on, Dean you can't just break into my house in the middle of the night and expect me to hit the road with you."

"You're not hearing me, Sammy. Dad's missing. I need you to help me find him."

"You remember that poltergeist in Amherst? He's always missing, and he's always fine. Why can't you get that through your thick skull?" he stopped, and Dean had to turn around to look at him. "I swore, Dean. I swore that I was done hunting. _Forever_."

"Come on," Dean scoffed. "It wasn't easy, but it wasn't _that_ bad."

"Yeah? When I told dad I was afraid of the thing in my closet, he gave me a colt .45."

"So? What was he supposed to do?"

"_So_? I was nine years old, Dean. He was supposed to tell me not to be afraid of the dark."

Dean spun around to face him again, his expression of intense disbelief and scorn. "Come on, what, are you _kidding_ me? Of course you should be afraid of the dark. You know what's out there, all the creepy things that go bump in the night!"

"Yeah, I know, but still. The way we were raised after mom was killed, and dad's _obsession_ to find the thing that killed her. But we still haven't found the damn thing. So we kill everything we _can_ find."

"And save a lot of people doing it, too," Dean said flatly, his expression dark.

"You think Mom would have wanted this for us? The weapon training, the melting the silver into bullets? Man, Dean, we were raised like warriors!"

"What, so, are you just going to live some normal apple pie life?"

"So what?" Sam said softly. "And no, Dean. Not normal. Safe."

"And that's why you ran away?" Dean challenged, looking away with an annoyed sound.

"I was just going to college. It was dad who said if I was going, I should stay gone. And that's what I'm doing. If you don't like it, tough."

"I can't do this alone."

"Yes, you can."

"Yeah. Well, I don't want to. I want to go home," Dean said softly.

Home? Man, his brother was different, which was weird. He'd been pretty much the same since he'd turned eighteen. Dean's expression wasn't offering much, though, and he didn't feel like pressing the issue. He dropped his head to his chest and sighed heavily. "What was he hunting?"

Dean popped open the trunk of the impala, grabbed the flap, and pushed it up, displaying a massive rack of weapons. He propped it up with an unloaded shotgun and dug around among the weapons for a moment. "Alright, where the hell did I put that thing?" he muttered.

But Sam wasn't listening. There was a picture tucked into the corner that he gently pulled out. "When dad left, why didn't you go with him?" he asked, studying the picture. The first was of a blonde woman with a little boy on her hip, both of them grinning at the camera, and a barn and paddock of horses in the background. There was another picture behind it, this one of Dean in a Stetson (a gigantic shock as it was) and two other Stetson-wearing men wielding rifles and with gigantic grins, a dead deer on the ground in front of them.

"I was working my own gig…this voodoo thing down in New Orleans."

"Dad let you go on a hunting trip…by yourself?" Sam's eyebrows shot up.

Dean gave him a look. "I'm twenty-six, dude."

He pulled the papers out and handed the top one to Sam.

"So Dad was checking out this two lane blacktop just outside of Jericho, California…about a month ago this guy, they found his car, but he vanished. Completely MIA."

"So maybe he was kidnapped?" Sam suggested.

"Yeah, right. Here's another one in April, December of '04, '03, '98, '92…ten of them over the past twenty years. All men, all same five mile stretch of road." He snatched the paper back from Sam and tucked it in his folder, allowing Sam time to tuck the photos into his jacket. "Started happening more and more so dad went to go dig around. That was about three weeks ago. Haven't heard from him since, which is bad enough, but then I get this voicemail."

He held up a tape recorder and pressed play.

"_Dean…something….starting to happen…figure out what's going on…may be what…we're looking for. We're all…in danger._"

"Is there EVP on that?" Sam wondered.

"Nice, Sammy. Kind of like riding a bike, isn't it?" Dean scoffed. "All right. I slowed the message down and ran it though a Goldwave, took out the hiss and this is what I got."

"_I…can never go home…"_

"I can never go home?" Sam repeated, a revolted look on his face. "That's dark."

"You know, in almost two years, I've never bothered you, never asked you for a thing." He sat on the trunk.

Sam sighed. "Alright. I'll go." He looked at Dean for a long moment. "I'll help you find him. But I _have_ to be back first thing Monday. Just, wait here."

"What's first thing Monday?"

"I have an interview."

"What, a job interview?" Dean asked with a smirk. "Skip it."

"It's a law school interview. And it's my whole future on a plate."

"Law school?" Dean repeated.

"So do we have a deal or not?" Sam asked, ignoring his brother's skepticisim.

Back in the apartment, Sam slipped a curved blade into his bag.

"Wait, so you're just taking off?" Jess inquired, incredulous. It was the middle of the night! "Is this about your dad? Is he okay?"

"Yeah, he's fine. You know, just a little family drama."

"Your brother said he was on some kind of hunting trip."

"Oh, yeah, he's just deer hunting up at the cabin, and he's probably got Jim, Jack, and Jose up along with him. We're just going to go and bring him back."

"What about the interview?"

"I'll make the interview. This is only for a couple days."

"Sam!" Jess exclaimed, jumping off the bed to grab his arm. "Wait, please, will you just stop for a second. Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine," Sam promised.

"It's just…you won't even talk about your family. And now you're taking off in the middle of the night to spend the weekend with him." She paused. "And with Monday coming up, it's kind of a big deal, and…"

"I will be back in time. I promise."

He sealed that promise with a kiss and walked out the door.

"At least tell me where you're going!" she called after him.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N**: Going through and editing this story to make it match up more with MTAF and the events that happen there. Also, please note that a prequel for this story was posted a while ago and lot of the later stuff will make much more sense if you read that first. Also please note that this entire story is being revised.

_Edited July 17, 2013._

**Disclaimer**: Dialogue taken directly from the episode. I don't own anything, it belongs to the CW.

* * *

**Jericho, California  
**October 31, 2005

"Amy, I can't come over tonight. Because I got work in the morning, that's why. Okay, my dad will skin my ass if I miss again," Troy paused when static interfered with the signal. "Hey, Amy, let me call you back?"

There was a woman dressed in white standing on the side of the road. He pulled up and rolled down the window. "Car trouble or something?" he asked her.

She got in the car. In the rearview mirror, there was no reflection of the woman currently sitting in the passenger seat.

"Will you take me home?" she asked breathlessly.

"Hell, yeah," Troy gushed, gunning it forward. "Where do you live?"

"At the end of Wagonridge Road. . ."

He drove there, and as he pulled up he took a closer look at the house. "Come on, you don't live here. This house is like a hundred years old." He looked over to find her gone. Frowning, he got out and walked up to the house. "Hello? This isn't funny." He went to open the door and bats swooped over his head. He yelped and ran back to his car, slamming it into reverse and gunning it away from the house.

When he looked in the rearview mirror, the dark haired beauty was sitting there. He screamed and drove through a fence and onto a bridge, skidding to a halt nearly perpendicular to the bridge.

Troy screamed and screamed as blood splattered the windows.

* * *

**Middle of Nowhere, California  
**Same Day

Dean walked out of the gas station, a candy bar in his mouth and a bag of chips and water bottle in his hand. "Hey, you want breakfast?" he called to Sam.

Sam looked over his shoulder and cocked a brow. "No, thanks," he replied, disgusted by his brother's junk food diet. "So how'd you pay for that? Are you and dad running credit card scams again?"

Dean shrugged noncommittally, evading the question as he responded, "Oh, the usual way, you know." He was nowhere near ready to inform his brother what he'd been up to since Sam had ran off to Stanford. At this point, he'd rather Sam just assume the worst of him, as per usual.

"Hmm." Sam frowned. "So how are you paying for that again?" he pressed.

"None of your damn business," Dean sighed, rolling his eyes. He'd slipped into big brother mode so easily it almost scared him a little. "Besides, hunting isn't exactly a pro-ball career," he added as he dropped into the driver's seat.

"I swear man, you have _got _to update your cassette tape collection," Sam insisted after a moment of silence, fishing through the cardboard box in his lap.

"Why?" Dean demanded grumpily.

"Well, for one, they're _cassette tapes_. And, two, Black Sabbath? Motorhead? Metallica?" he lifted each and dropped them back in the box while Dean scowled at him. "It's the greatest hits of mullet rock." He held up the Metallica for emphasis, one eyebrow rising mockingly.

"House rules, Sammy," Dean said, grabbing the cassette and putting it in the slot. "Driver picks the music…shotgun shuts his cake hole." He flicked the case back into the box and turned the car on.

"You know, _Sammy_ is a chubby twelve-year-old. It's _Sam_," Sam said loudly over the music.

"Can't hear you," Dean shouted, pointing at the radio. "Music's too loud." With a smirk, he gunned it and pulled out onto the open road. They passed the Jericho 7 miles sign twenty minutes later, Sam on the phone with various locations in the area.

"Okay, thank you," Sam said into the phone and hung up. "Okay, so there's no one matching dad's description in the hospital or morgue, so that's something, I guess."

Dean wasn't really listening to what his brother was telling him. His attention was caught by a bridge swarming with police and feds. He pulled the Impala over, leaned over Sam, and pulled the glove box open, fishing around in the wooden box of fake IDs before pulling he finally decided on a Federal Marshal badge.

"Let's go," he said, climbing out of the car and not waiting for his brother's response. Sam gaped and had no choice but to follow his brother, muttering unkind things under his breath as he, too, grabbed a Marshal badge and trudged after his elder sibling.

An officer was leaning over the bridge as they approached, speaking to divers down on the riverbanks. "Did you find anything?" he called.

"Nothing," was the divers' unsurprising response.

"Anything?" the same officer asked the forensic specialist looking over the car. The man shook his head.

"No handprints, no fingerprints. It's almost too clean." He paused, looking uncomfortable for a moment before blurting, "Troy was dating your daughter wasn't he?"

"Yeah," the cop sighed, rubbing a hand warily down his face.

"How's Amy doing?"

"She's putting up missing posters downtown."

Dean walked up, frowning at their incompetence while he mentally cataloged their faces and the conversation he'd just overheard. "You guys had another one like this just last month, didn't you?" he said in lieu of introduction, deciding to go for the overconfident asshole fed that cops were never surprised to have to deal with.

"Yeah," the officer answered slowly, looking a little taken aback by his presence. "And you are…?"

He flashed his fake badge just long enough for the officer to get a good look at the symbol. "Federal Marshals," he said, just in case the lawman was blind.

"You two are a little young to be Marshals, aren't you?" the cop mocked with a smirk.

"That's awfully kind of you," Dean said with a smirk. "You did have another one like this, right?"

"That's right."

"Any connection between the victims, besides the fact that they are all men?"

"None that we've been able to find," the cop shrugged.

Dean smirked. "That's exactly the kind of crap police work I would expect out of you guys—" he grunted and cut off abruptly when Sam stomped down on his foot. Hard.

"Thanks for your time," Sam said politely, forcing a smile and increasing the pressure with his foot. "Gentlemen."

Dean slapped Sam upside the head the moment he was free.

"Ow," Sam snarled, "What was that for?"

"Why the hell did you stomp on my foot?" Dean demanded.

"_Why_ do you have to talk to police like that?"

"Come on, Sam," Dean growled, cutting him off. "They don't have any idea what's going on here. If we want to find Dad, we've got to get to the bottom of this ourselves."

Sam cleared his throat, his eyes focused on a point over his shoulder. Dean did an abrupt about face and found himself face-to-face with three feds, a surge of annoyance soon following. His annoying little brother could have informed him of that before he opened his mouth.

"Can I help you boys?" the head fed asked politely.

"No, sir, we were just leaving." He nodded at the two men who passed him. "Agent Molder, Agent Scully."

**/**

Dean and Sam walked down the main street of the small town, keeping their eyes peeled for the cop's daughter and most recent victim's girlfriend. Up ahead they could see a young woman posting signs up to poles down the street.

"I bet you that's her," said Dean quietly, nudging to his brother and pointing discreetly to the girl taping up flyers everywhere. "Are you Amy?" he asked when they were close enough.

The girl turned to look at them. "Yeah. Who are you?" she asked suspiciously, looking them up and down.

Letting Dean do the talking, Sam focused instead on the girl. She was young, quiet, modestly dressed. Her eyes were red-rimmed from crying and dark shadows lingered beneath her eyes, poorly hidden by cover-up.

"We're his uncles," Dean continued. "I'm Dean, and this is Sam."

"He never mentioned you," Amy said, confused.

"Yeah, well, that's Troy, I guess. We're not around much, we're up in Modesto."

"So, we're looking for him too, asking around a little bit…" Sam paused, shifted from foot to foot as if a little uncomfortable. Dean was impressed; he'd forgotten how good of an actor his brother could be. "Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?"

"Not at all," Amy replied instantly, leading them to the local diner. She waited until they were sitting down before she ran them through the story, ending with, "So, I was talking to Troy on the phone. He said he would call me right back, and uh, he never did." She sniffed and wiped at her eyes. Sam had no outward reaction but Dean shifted uncomfortably; he hated it when women cried.

"Anything strange or out of the ordinary?"

"No."

"I like your necklace," Sam commented, staring at the pentagram.

"Troy gave it to me. Mostly to scare my parents, with all that devil stuff." Amy laughed.

Sam cleared his throat and smiled. "Actually, that means just the opposite. A pentagram is a protection _against_ evil; really powerful, err, if you believe in that kind of thing."

"Okay, thank you, unsolved mysteries," Dean said, easily reading Amy's sudden discomfort with the turn of the conversation. "Here's the deal, ladies, and this whole thing with him missing…something's not right. We need you to tell us everything you know." The girls looked at each other, and he immediately knew they were hiding something. "What?" he pressed, leaning forward slightly.

"Well, it's just…with all these people going missing, people talk," Amy said hesitantly.

"What do they talk about?" Sam and Dean asked in unison.

"It's kind of this local legend. This girl, she got murdered out on Centennial. Supposedly she's still out there. She hitchhikes, and whoever picks her up, well…they disappear forever."

Sam and Dean shared a meaningful look. It was a start. They thanked the girls and took their leave. They headed to the library and found a computer, where Dean typed in 'female murder centennial' in the search box and it came up blank.

"Let me try," Sam insisted.

"I got it," Dean snapped, and Sam just shoved his chair out of the way, moving forward to type.

Dean slapped his shoulder with more force than necessary and grumbled, "Dude, you are _such_ a control freak!"

Ignoring him, Sam started typing things into the search box, talking aloud as he did so. "So many angry spirits are born out of violent deaths, right?"

"Right," Dean agreed.

"Well…maybe it's not murder." Sam replaced 'murder' with 'suicide' and pressed enter.

One result came up and he clicked on it. "Nineteen eighty one, Constance Welch, twenty four years old, jumps off Slovenia bridge and drowns in the river," he read aloud.

"Does it tell why she did it?" Dean asked, trying to see the screen. Sam pushed him out of the way and scanned the article for a moment before answering.

"Yeah. An hour before they found her she called 911. Her two little kids are in the bathtub, she leaves them alone for a minute, and when she comes back, they aren't breathing. Both die."

Dean's gut churned uncomfortably at the thought. "Hmm," he grunted, not trusting his voice to speak.

"Our babies were gone and Constance just couldn't bear it,' said husband Joseph Welch."

"That bridge look familiar to you?" Dean asked, pointing at the bridge in the photograph.

Later that night, they parked the Impala and walked along the edge of the bridge, looking down into the churning water.

Dean leaned over and remarked, "So this is where Constance took a swan dive."

"So you think dad would have been here?" Sam asked, bracing both hands on the railing.

"Well, he was chasing the same story, and we're chasing him," Dean replied, walked away into the gloom.

Sam sighed and followed. "Okay, so not what?" he wondered.

"So, we keep digging until we find him. It might take a while."

"Dean, I told you. I have to be back by Mon—"

"Monday," Dean cut him off. "Right. The interview. Yeah, I forgot. You're really serious about this, aren't you?" he realized, ignoring the shot of pain through his chest." So, what, you're going to become a lawyer, marry your girl?"

"Yeah, why not?"

Dean turned to look Sam in the eye. "Does Jessica know about you, Sam? Does she know about everything you've done, about what you are? You need to be honest about that for it to work."

"Like you would know?" he snarled, and Dean looked pissed for a moment before his expression smoothed over.

"Does she?" he repeated flatly, refusing to get in yet another fight with his brother.

"No, she doesn't know," Sam said defiantly, "and she's never going to."

"Oh yeah, that's healthy," Dean said sarcastically. "You can pretend all you want, Sammy, but sooner or later you're going to have to fess up to what you really are."

"Oh yeah, and what's that?" Sam said behind him.

"One of us. A hunter."

"No," Sam nearly shouted. "I'm not like you. This is _not_ going to be my life."

"You have a responsibility," Dean growled.

"To _what_?" Sam all but shouted. "Dad, and his crusade? If it weren't for pictures, I wouldn't even know what mom _looks_ like! And even if we do find the thing that killed her, it doesn't matter. Mom's gone, Dean, and she's never coming back."

Dean grabbed the front of his shirt and slammed him against the pole. Sam stared at him, shocked both at his brother's sudden surge of temper and his strength. "_Don't_ talk about her like that," he snarled, shoving him backwards once more before balling his hands into fists and stalking away down the bridge.

Sam hurried to catch up with him, feeling guilty. He always forgot that Dean was old enough to remember his mom, that Dean had had nightmares about her until he was ten. "What is your problem, Dean? You aren't acting yourself."

"Doesn't matter, Sammy," Dean said wearily. "I just want to find dad so I can get back."

"Get back where?" Sam wondered, frustrated.

"Never mind," he sighed as he ran a hand through his hair.

Uncomfortable with their sudden awkwardness, Sam shrugged and murmured, "Fair enough."

With a sigh, Dean rubbed his hand over his face and walked back toward the Impala. He froze a second later. A figure in white was standing on the bridge. "Sam," he warned, pointing.

The woman looked them both in the eye, smiled, and dove right off the bridge. Dean and Sam sprinted for the edge, looking into the water. "Where did she go?" Dean called.

"I don't know," Sam replied.

Behind them the Impala's engine growled to life and the headlights shone in their faces. Both turned.

"What the…?" Dean said aloud.

"Who's driving your car?" Sam wondered.

Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys, shaking them a few times so they jangled. The Impala leapt forward. "Go, go, go!" Dean shouted, sprinting down the bridge beside Sam with the care quickly gaining ground. They both grabbed the edge and vaulted over.

Sam pulled himself back up to the railing painfully, his shoulder throbbing. "Dean. Dean!" he roared.

A figure crawled out of the water. "What?" Dean yelled back.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm super," Dean replied sarcastically, flashing him a thumbs up. It took him a few minutes to hike back up the bridge to find Sam checking the Impala for any damage. He took over a moment later, obsessively checking and double checking everything.

Sam asked, "The car's alright?"

"Yeah," Dean grumbled. "Whatever she did to it, it's fine now." He scowled and glared around the bridge, but the target of his ire was absent. "That Constance chick, what a _bitch_!"

Rolling his eyes at his brother's antics, Sam asked, "So what's there to check now, genius?"

Dean threw up his hands, annoyed at the entire situation and wishing he'd just been able to find his stupid dad and get back to where he belonged without having to drag Sam into it.

Sam made a face. "You smell like a toilet," he informed his brother, barley containing a smirk. Dean flashed him a dirty look and refused to let his brother drive them back to the motel.

They got a motel room, slapping a credit card on the counter. "One room, please."

"You having a reunion or something?" the man asked, glancing down at the name and back up at them.

"Sorry?"

"An older guy rented out a room for the entire month."

The brothers looked at each other, asked the man for the room number, and immediately headed over to check it out. Sam was excited that they'd finally found their dad while Dean held his silence, doubting that finding him was going to be that easy.

Dean stood guard outside while Sam picked the lock, being yanked inside by Sam as soon as the door was open. They quickly closed and locked the door behind them before clicking the lights on and surveying the room. There was stuff everywhere – on the walls, over the table, on the floor.

"Whoa," Sam breathed.

Dean picked up an old hamburger and sniffed it. "Ugh. I don't think he's been here for a few days," he told the room in general.

Sam was busy checking the floors and windowsills, running his fingers through a pile of stuff in front of the door. "Salt, catseye shells…he was worried. Trying to keep something from coming in," he informed his brother, who had already assumed as much. "What have you got here?" he wondered, standing to study the wall of images, words, and newspaper clippings.

"Centennial highway victims," Dean replied, looking at the pictures. "I don't get it. Different ages, ethnicities...why did they get taken? There's always a connection, right? What do these guys have in common?"

Sam clicked on the light on the bedside table and looked closer at the wall. There was an article there with his father's familiar chickenscratch handwriting. "Dad figured it out," he breathed.

Startled, Dean said, "What?"

Sam tapped the article with his index finger. "Constance Welch is the Woman in White."

"Dad would have dug her up and burned the body by now," said Dean conversationally.

Chewing his lip, he responded, "Maybe not. We've got to make sure."

"Right. I'm going to take a shower, then we'll get going." Dean grabbed a towel and headed for the bathroom.

"Hey, Dean?" Sam said as his brother was leaving.

Dean paused, turning partway around to look at him with one eyebrow raised as he wondered, "Yeah?"

"About what I said earlier, about mom…I'm sorry." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the two pictures. "I saw you looking for these earlier."

Dean snatched them out of his hand, holding them carefully. "I…" he puffed out a breath. "Thanks. Just…don't touch them again. Like, ever."

"Okay." He grinned. "Wanna hug on it?"

Dean held up a hand, looking disgusted at the very thought. "No chick flick moments."

"Alright," Sam laughed. "Jerk."

Dean smirked. "Bitch."

Sam spotted a picture on the mirror of the three of them hunting when he'd been seven. Smiling slightly, he pulled out his cell phone and checked his voicemails.

Freshly showered and clean, Dean grabbed his jacket. "Dude, I'm starving. I'm going to grab something from that diner down the street. You hungry?"

"No," Sam replied, smiling at the sound of Jess' voice.

Dean was heading for the car when his life-honed sixth sense warned him that something was off. He quickly scanned the parking lot, immediately identifying one of the cops from earlier by the bridge. "Shit," he muttered, pulling out his cell phone and dialing Sam's number.

"What?" Sam asked by way of greeting, not even glancing up from his research.

"Due, 5-0. Take off."

Sam tensed and shot to his feet. "What about you?" he said, worry lancing his tone.

"Uh…they kind of spotted me," Dean admitted, internally cursing his foolishness. "I'll be fine, not my first rodeo. Find dad." He hung up before Sam could answer.

"Problem, officers?" Dean asked, watching them walk up and knowing that he didn't have a chance unless he wanted it to become a manhunt.

"Where's your partner?"

"Partner?" Dean asked, donning his surprised face. "What partner?" he fought to keep that expression calm when the cop started walking toward the room Sam was in. He knew his brother wasn't that out of practice and was long gone by now.

"So, fake US Marshal, fake credit cards…you got anything that's real?" the cop asked, somewhat angrily.

Dean grinned. "My boots," he said mockingly.

Predictably, it only took them a moment to handcuff him and slam him down on the hood of the police cruiser while they started reading him his Miranda rights. "You have the right to remain silent…"

**/**

Dean was patient the entire way through being 'processed' —not that it even counted in a small town like this one— and was not surprised when he ended up handcuffed to a desk facing the Sheriff.

"So you want to tell us your real name, son?" the man asked conversationally.

Dean watched the heavy man drop a huge box on the table in front of him. "I told you," he insisted, "Its Nugent. Ted Nugent."

"I'm not sure just how much trouble you realize you're in right now."

He was perfectly aware but didn't see the point in letting the man know he was a lot smarter than most people thought. So he adopted his usual mocking expression and tone and asked, "We talking misdemeanor kind of trouble, or squeal like a pig trouble?" He threw in an arrogant grin for good measure.

"You got the faces of ten missing persons strapped to your ass," the Sheriff informed him matter-of-factly. For a moment, Dean was stunned by their stupidity. "You are officially a suspect."

Dean let some of his irritation show as he mocked, "Well, _that_ would make sense, considering the first person went missing in '83, when I was _three_."

"I know you got partners. One of them is an older guy. Maybe he started the whole thing." He pulled out a leather bound book and dropped it on the table in front of Dean. Despite years of training, he froze every muscle as he started at the familiar book, astonished that it would be _here _of all places.

"So tell me, _Dean_, is this his?"

It took every ounce of his self-control and training to keep his expression from betraying him. He was staring at the journal. His dad's_ prized_ journal. The journal John was never without, ever.

What the hell was going on? He never even took a shower without that thing being on the counter in the bathroom with him. For the first time in recent memory, fear for his father—_real _fear—curled in his gut and made him feel nauseous.

"I thought that might be your name," the cop continued with a smirk of his own, even though Dean had neither confirmed nor denied. "I leafed through this, what little I could make out. It's nine kinds of crazy."

Dean resisted the urge to say, _It's only crazy because you're one of the billions of idiots who choose to ignore this stuff instead of face it because it's too scary for your tiny little brains to handle._

Instead he leaned forward, looking at the page in front of him, scanning every inch of his father's familiar scrawl. It was his name with two numbers beneath it: 35 and -111.

_Coordinates_, Dean thought to himself as his confusion and anger mounted. _What the hell kind of game are you playing here, dad_?

* * *

**E/N**: Wow, it's really hilarious how much I sucked at writing three years ago… this is going to be a long summer. O.o


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N**: I find myself constantly laughing at how scared I was to write my own stuff! Crazy that this was my very first story and that most of the dialogue is lifted directly from the show. Sorry about that new readers I promise it gets better! xD

_Revised on July 7, 2013._

**Disclaimer**: It belongs to the CW.

* * *

**Jericho, California**  
November 1, 2005

"I'm telling you, it's my high school locker combo," Dean insisted, starting to get annoyed with the police officer's bullheaded stubbornness.

"We going to do this all night long?" the man demanded. Dean could tell he was upsetting the officer by not answering his question, and he felt almost smug about it. He could do this all night—he was one of the most stubborn assholes most people had ever had the misfortune of meeting and he was doing a damn good job living up to that reputation.

Another officer stuck his head in the door to get the man's attention, out of breath as if he'd just run all the way there. "We just got a call," he panted. "Shots fired down at Whitebeard Road."

"You have to the bathroom?" the officer asked when the other man was gone, door slamming shut behind him hard enough to rattle the glass in the pane.

"Uh, no?" Dean replied, raising an eyebrow.

"Good."

He took out handcuffs, put one end on Dean's wrist and locked the other end to the table. He walked out of the room and left Dean there with John's journal right in front of him.

"Wonderful," he muttered, rolling his eyes and immediately looking around for anything thin and long enough to pick a handcuff. A glint of silver on the edge of his dad's journal caught his attention. He leaned forward to find a paperclip sticking out of one of the pages. A smirk spread over his lips as he pulled it free and glanced from his handcuffs to the door.

He was free less than a minute later and slipping quietly out of the office. He evaded the officers, waiting for them to clear the precinct before finding the quickest path to the roof.

He then went to the nearest phone booth, the journal held protectively in his hands.

**/**

Sam drove the Impala just below the speed limit like a good citizen, waiting to get his brother's call. He answered the phone the second it started ringing.

"Hello?"

"Fake 911 phone call. I don't know, Sam, that's pretty illegal," Dean told him over the line, a grin in his voice.

Sam smiled in return, unable to help himself. "You're welcome," he said arrogantly, before he remembered to add, "Oh, and the husband was unfaithful, so we are dealing with the woman in white. And she's buried behind her old house, which would have been Dad's first stop—"

"Sam, will you shut up and let me finish—"

"—I just can't figure out why he hasn't destroyed the corpse yet."

Dean made a frustrated noise and snapped, "That's what I'm trying to tell you. Dad's gone; he left Jericho."

Sam was shocked. "What?" he spluttered. "How do you know, Dean?"

"He left his journal," he said quietly.

"He never goes anywhere without that thing."

"Yeah, I know. But this time, he did."

The mere thought of his dad without his journal made Sam uncomfortable even after years away from hunting. "So where's he going?" he wondered aloud.

"You know that same old ex-marine crap when he wants to let us know where he's going?"

"Coordinates," he answered instantly.

"Yep."

Sam hit a hand against the steering wheel in frustration. "I don't understand! Did Dad just skip out in the middle of a job? Dean, what the _hell_ is going on?" he demanded, angry now. His brother's response was cut off by his startled yelp of, "Whoa!"

Sam dropped his phone as he slammed on the breaks. In front of him was a woman, and before the car came to a complete stop, she was gone. He looked in the rearview mirror and found her sitting in the backseat, eyes locked on his.

"Take me home," she demanded.

Sam gulped but he didn't answer.

"Take me home," she repeated, slightly louder.

"No," he said firmly, stubbornness in full swing.

The locks clicked downwards and the Impala sped off without his consent or direction. Sam didn't have any control over the speed or where it was going. Constance drove it down the road to the old abandoned house. She moved to the front seat and pushed Sam back, climbing in his lap.

"Hold me," she pleaded. "I'm so cold."

"You can't kill me," Sam pointed out. "I'm not unfaithful. I never have been."

"You were, and you will be again," she insisted.

She kissed him and he reached for the keys. As he grabbed them, she disappeared and he was moving to get up when a burn started on his chest. Constance was back a second later, ripping through his chest and eliciting a sharp yell of pain from the young man.

The pain was almost unbearable until a deafening sound echoed in the confines of the car and the burning disappeared. Dean was at the window with his handgun, his expression less than pleased as he emptied half a clip into the space Constance had been. When she was gone again, Sam took a deep breath to ready himself against the pain sat up, turned the ignition on, and put the car in drive.

Dean looked surprised as he spluttered, "Sam, what—"

"I'm taking you home," Sam muttered, pushing the gas pedal to the floor and ramming the Impala into the front of the house.

Dean ran in after him and pulled him from the car, checking him quickly for injuries and pushing his anger aside for a moment. He tensed when movement flickered at the edge of his vision.

Constance walked through the debris, headed for a portrait. She looked it over with a fearful expression. The brothers took a step closer to find that it was a picture of her and her two children, a son and daughter. She glared at Sam and Dean, set the portrait down, and moved a dresser at them, pinning them to the side of the Impala.

Both of them yelped in pain as it rammed their kneecaps and pinned them in place. Cursing, the brothers tried to push the furniture away but she was too strong.

As she went to finish them off, the lights flickered up the stairs and she seemed to forget the boys were standing there. Water trickled down the steps before it turned into a flood. The woman's eyes grew wide as her children appeared at the landing, looking down at her with their hands clasped together.

"You've come home to us, Mommy," they called in unison, the eerie tone of their voices sending shivers up Dean's spine. Beside him, Sam looked equally freaked out.

She took a step back and the children rushed to her. Once they had their arms around her waist, she screamed and was gone. Too stunned to react the brothers could only stare as the water gargled like it was circling a drain before it sank into the floor and disappeared.

They pushed the dresser back and went to inspect the portal they had gone through. All that was left was a small puddle of water.

"So this is where she drowned her kids," Dean realized quietly.

Sam nodded, responding with, "That's why she could never go home. She was too scared to face them."

"Yeah, you found her weak spot. Good work, Sammy." Dean slapped him on the chest right where he knew Constance had burned him. Sam laughed to keep himself from yelping in pain. He turned to Dean as his brother walked back to the car, suddenly in full protective mode.

"Yeah, I wish I could say the same for you. What were you thinking, shooting Casper in the face, you freak?" Sam teased.

"Hey, saved your ass," Dean shot back as bent down to look at the front of the Impala, covered in wood and furniture. "I'll tell you another thing, Sammy, if you screwed up my car. . . I'll kill you."

Sam laughed and helped clear away the debris so Dean could back the car out. As soon as it was free he climbed in and they hit the road back towards Stanford.

While they made the trip back to Stanford, Sam was looking up the coordinates on a map of the United States until he found the exact spot, in the middle of the Colorado Wilderness.

"That's weird," Sam commented.

"What?" Dean demanded from the driver's seat, not taking his eyes off the road.

"The coordinates dad left us point to the middle of nowhere."

Dean frowned. "Where?"

"Blackwater Ridge, Colorado."

"Sounds charming. How far?" he wondered, annoyed at his father's cloak-and-dagger routine.

"About…" Sam quickly did the math. "Six hundred miles."

"I'm sure we can make it by morning."

"Dean, I'm… uh… I'm…"

"You're not going," he guessed, suddenly remembering Stanford. Law School. Sam's life. He'd forgotten for a moment. This entire hunt it had been just like old times, just like before his brother had left their family for college.

"The interview is in, like, ten hours. I've _got_ to be there," Sam said with a pleading tone in his voice.

Dean frowned and turned away to hide his hurt. "Yeah, whatever. I'll take you home."

Sam switched the flashlight off and put the map away as they drove off into the night, biting his lip as he struggled with what to say. He held back questions for as long as he could, but Dean was silent, and he was too hyped up on adrenaline to sleep even though he was pretending to.

"Just ask," Dean said suddenly, his voice startling Sam in the silence. Sometimes, it amazed Sam how well Dean knew him. Despite that, he still felt miles apart from his brother, and they were only sitting a few feet away from each other. He just seemed...different. He couldn't explain it. He was just _different_. There was something, he just couldn't put his finger on it.

"Who is she?" Sam blurted, eying his brother's left hand as he remembered the photograph of the blonde woman and the little boy.

Dean didn't seem surprised by the question at all. "Her name is Paige," he replied softly, shifting to a more comfortable position in his seat.

"And the kid?"

"Don't know," Dean said nonchalantly. "She's an old friend. Her dad's a hunting buddy of our dad's, you met him once but you were little so you probably don't remember. I met her right after you left for college and spent some time with her and her family. They're good people."

Sam sat up straighter. "What are their names?"

"His name's Brad Newbern. He had a son who passed away last year and he has two daughters, Paige and Jillian. Their family has been hunting for a _long _time. It's on both sides, too. Brad's mom's maiden name is Knox. She's Jeb Knox's aunt."

"The hunter? The one dad works with every time he's in North Carolina?"

Dean smiled faintly. "That's the one."

"Who're the guys, then?"

"Her cousins, Michael and Jared Knox. They're Jake's nephews. We went deer hunting last time I was in Wyoming."

"They live in Wyoming?"

"Yeah."

"You see them a lot, then," Sam guessed. "I mean, dad goes through Wyoming all the time."

Dean shrugged. "Suppose so, yeah. Now why don't you get some sleep?"

Sam took that as the cue his brother was done talking about his life the past couple years. "Hey, Dean?" he wondered quietly.

"Hmm?"

"Why do you have a tan line on your left ring finger?"

Dean smiled, recognizing that his brother's exhaustion was creeping in. "Another time, Sammy," he said quietly. His brother's snore filled the car. He snorted before pulling the pictures out of his pocket and running his thumb gently over the image of the woman and child.

"I'll be home soon," he whispered. "Promise."

/

**E/N**: I almost forgot what Sam was like before he knew everyone and got introduced to the madness of the Newberns, lol. If you're reading this now please note the following chapters will be edited over the next couple weeks. Any reviews from new readers are appreciated. :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note**: Yay! Reviews make me very, very happy! Thanks guys. Okay, next chapter is really short, sorry about that, but the next will be longer, I promise. I could have taken it farther, but that would've just depressed me.

**Disclaimer**: It all belongs to the CW except my OCs.

* * *

**Stanford University, California  
**November 2, 2005

Sam was glad to be back on campus when Dean pulled the car to a stop in front of the apartments. He climbed out, grabbed his bag, and closed the door behind him, looking back at his brother.

"Promise you'll call when you find him?" he asked.

Dean nodded. "I will."

"Maybe I'm meet up with you two later?" Sam suggested, even though he knew that would never happen.

By his expression, his brother knew it too, but still said, "Yeah, all right."

As Sam left to walk up the stairs, Dean stopped him by calling out, "Sam, you know . . . we made a hell of a team back there."

Sam nodded and smiled slightly but refused to rise to the bait. "Yeah, we did," he agreed mildly. "When you find dad, tell him I said hello."

Dean smiled as if to say _I tried _and waved. "Will do," he called before pulling away from the curb with the ever-familiar rumble of the Impala's engine.

When the Impala was out of his sight, Sam made his way to his room and called for Jess. When she didn't answer, he expected that she was sleeping or getting ready for bed. He dropped his bag by the door and walked down the hall. A plate of chocolate chip cookies was waiting for him on the table with a note reading _Missed You, Love You._

It blew his mind how sweet and perfect Jessica was. He smiled fondly and took one, munching it happily on the way to their bedroom.

The bathroom door was open a crack and the water was running, steam flowing into the bedroom. He smiled again and lay back on the bed with a sigh, putting his arms behind his head and closing his eyes in contentment.

It wasn't long before he felt something dripping on his forehead, and he ignored it. When a second drip landed, he opened his eyes and stared up in horror.

Jessica was on the ceiling, her abdomen cut open, blood dripping out.

"No!" he screamed. "Jess!"

"Sam!" Dean bellowed, charging into the room as the ceiling burst into flames. He grabbed Sam under the armpits and half-pushed, half-tackled him out of the room.

Sam was trying to break out of his brother's grasp as he was pushed out of the front door.

"Jess! _No_!" he cried desperately, staring up in horror. The room burst into flames just as Dean got Sam outside.

While the fire department put the flames out, Dean was watching from the sidelines. His mind traveled back to a time over twenty years ago, when he'd watched the same scene, except last time he'd been tucked safely into his father's side. He sighed and turned back to the Impala. Sam was loading a shotgun when he walked over and stood next to him. He looked at Sam and fought the urge to do something, knowing that hugging him would just freak him out.

His heart went out to his baby brother, wishing he had some way to comfort him. He'd never seen Sam's eyes so bleak and full of pain. But he knew from experience with his dad that there was nothing he could do that would ease his pain.

Sam just dropped the gun in the back.

"We've got work to do," he said simply, closing the trunk.

"Alright," Dean agreed, putting a hand on his shoulder. "But first, we're taking a detour. There's some people I think you should meet."

* * *

**E/N**: _Revised July 19, 2013._


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note: Okay, wow…I feel loved. Ten reviews! Yay! Love it, love it. Okay, here is where I take the story and kind of run with it. Hope you guys like!

**timetowaste247**: Thanks for the advice. I stuck so close to the show on purpose, because I wanted to give readers the idea that the setting was still the same, but the circumstances were different (maybe a little too close, though, eh?). I was also trying to stick to the original Dean as much as possible, as he acts different in subtle ways that will become more apparent in the next few chapters. Plus, I didn't want to change him _too _much, and piss every one off, as we all love Dean exactly how he is. Haha, that would probably end badly. Anyway, I appreciate the constructive criticism, as it helps me to become a better writer for you guys. Pinkie promise, no more sticking directly to the episode.

**samgirl19**: Your review made me laugh…you remind me of my best friend, who's also obsessed with Sam (she has pics of him all over her room…kinda creepy, haha). And maybe you'll get to see some of that in the future…I've got a few surprises up my sleeve. ;)

**To the rest of my lovely reviewers**: Thanks for the love, you guys rock! And a few of you are rather close to certain aspects…it seems I need to work on my foreshadowing a bit.

* * *

"We need to stay in Stanford and find Jessica's killer, Dean," Sam insisted angrily, glaring at his brother.

"Sam, I was there when mom died. Trust me, this thing doesn't stick around," Dean argued, gripping the steering wheel tight. "Staying in Stanford would just be a waste of time. If dad was in Jericho, chances are he probably stopped in to see Brad Newbern on the way to California. If anyone knows where dad's headed, Brad does, and we both know that if anyone knows where this thing is, dad sure as hell probably has the best idea."

"Fine," Sam growled, crossing his arms and staring out the window.

Dean rolled his eyes. Sulky Sam had apparently returned from the world of adolescence. And then he felt slightly ashamed. Of course Sam would be sulky. His girlfriend had just died. He cussed softly under his breath, because now, he was making himself feel guilty, of all things.

"So where are we going?" Sam muttered dully after nearly an hour of silence staring out the window watching the dark countryside fly by.

"A little town called Thunder Creek, Wyoming," Dean replied, rubbing a hand down his face. He glanced at the clock. "It's almost four now, and it's about three and a half hours out. We just crossed into Colorado."

"So we'll be there by sundown?"

"Hopefully."

"And the Newbern family lives in this town?"

"You could put it that way, yeah." Dean didn't look at him, and didn't explain his vague explanation. Sam would figure out soon enough that the Newberns were......well, for lack of better comparison, like the Kennedy's of Wyoming.

Sam shrugged, not feeling like talking at the moment, and settled down into his seat. Eventually, despite the thoughts whirling around inside his head, he fell asleep with his forehead pillowed against the cold glass of the window, lulled into a dreamless slumber by the radio's soft tune of AC/DC's Highway to Hell.

~*~*~*~*~

Dean yawned hugely and swiped his credit card to pay for the gas. Sam was still passed out in the passenger seat, and they were about a half an hour from Thunder Creek. He strode into the convenience store and bought himself a diet coke and a hot dog, needing fuel and some way to keep himself awake.

"That'll be ten twenty, sir," the kid at the register said. Dean paid him, keeping a close eye on the Impala. He thanked the kid and headed back to the Impala, popping the truck and tucking his pictures back into his bag. There was no one around, so he didn't need to worry about people noticing his own personal arsenal.

Sam didn't even twitch when he started the car and pulled back onto the road. With another huge yawn, he took a huge gulp of his soda and watched the sun set over the peaks of the beautiful Laramie mountain range.

Twenty-five minutes later, the Impala sped by the _Welcome to Thunder Creek, Wyoming_ sign, with the _Population: 521_ beneath it. The radio was playing AC/DC soft enough to keep Sam from waking up. The poor kid was exhausted, he needed sleep. His skin was gray and there were dark smudges under his eyes. All Dean could do was hope that somehow, someday, Sam would be able to overcome Sam's death. But Sam was so much like their dad, he had a feeling that Sam's number one prioriy for the rest of his life would be revenge on the thing that had killed the love of his life. The realisation of that fact soured Dean's mood immediately.

Dean chewed his lip as he got closer and closer to the town. He knew perfectly well that Sam was probably going to kill him for all the secrets he'd been keeping…he ran a hand through his hair and sighed, frowning when he caught a glimpse of himself in the rearview mirror. His hair was sticking straight up because he'd run his hands through it so many times. After a minute of trying to smooth it back down, he gave up and left it looking crazy.

Before he knew it, he was driving down the town's main street at a speed of twenty miles an hour, rolling down his window and smiling at people who waved cheerfully at him. There weren't many people out and about, as days started early in this town, but those who were out were dressed in jackets and jeans. Winter was nearing, and the wind chill proved it.

He read the store signs as he passed by. _Newbern Electric, Newbern General Store, Newbern Lumber Supply, Newbern Real Estate Office, Jay's Diner, Millie's Clothing Supply, Newbern Library…._and then he was out of the town and back on the road. There were several houses dotting the landscape on his left, the smaller farms. On his right were great open pastures, the giant ranches that surrounded the town, and surprise, all of them were owned by the Newbern family. All he could see of the houses in the darkness were the bright lights that pinpointed their locations.

Turning right on the second access road after town, he found himself on a long gravel driveway lined with trees. There were four paddocks with white picket fences on either side of the lane, all eight of them empty of the horses that usually occupied them. Reaching over, Dean nudged Sam awake, fighting back a grin when his brother snorted loudly and snapped awake all at once, banging his knees on the dashboard.

"Where are we?" Sam mumbled, rubbing his eyes. He didn't really care. He couldn't feel anything. He was empty, and cold, like a deep underwater cave that held no life. Jess was like never ending abyss inside his heart, stretching on forever and beyond. The pain made him numb; he simply didn't want to feel. So what if he was being cowardly, the numbness made him feel better.

"Thunder Creek, Wyoming," Dean replied.

"Thunder Creek?" Sam repeated, looking up. Already? It felt like he'd just fallen asleep a minute ago. And then he realised it was dark and looked out the window. The numbness gave way to shock as his mouth dropped open at the sight before him.

It was one of the biggest houses he'd seen in Wyoming – two stories, white, with a black trim and black wooden shades. The front windows had flower boxes beneath them, and light sparkled out of each one, illuminating the house in the dark night lit only by the sparkling canvas of moon and stars above them. Behind the house he spotted a big building he guessed was probably a barn and what looked like an arena; and far, far, away, the speck so small it was almost invisible, was what appeared to be another house, just a bright yellow ball in the night. Between the two houses was a vast black chasm lit by no light at all.

"Welcome to Red Hill Ranch," Dean said with a grin. He pulled the Impala into the open garage and climbed out. Three dogs came running, barking madly, to tackle him straight to the ground and attack his face and hands with their happy tongues. Dean merely chuckled and shoved them off, scratching their ears. The Rottweiler, Great Dane, and German shepherd stepped between him and Dean and growled at Sam, their hackles raised, revealing sharp white teeth. Sam gulped. He never really had liked dogs all that much.

Dean got to his feet and brushed himself off, whistling softly. All three dogs backed up until they were level with Dean's heels, but didn't drop their protective stance. All three pairs of eyes gleaned menacingly at the taller man.

Sam was staring at his brother, shocked. Just how much time had he _spent _here? The dogs seemed to love him, no small feat, considering both were obviously guard dogs and big enough to rip out the throats of most grown men.

"Back off, Klaus, Fritz, Perseus. I mean it," Dean ordered. Sam was shocked further not only when the dogs obeyed him, but when they sat down and looked up at him for further orders. Dogs only did that when you spent a heck of a lot of time with them. He was staring at Dean now, wondering just what in the heck his brother had been doing for the last few years. "Go one, get back out there," he suggested with a flap of his hand. The three dogs looked up at him, their tails thumping the dirt.

Dean hung his keys on a rack just on the inside of the garage door and stepped through, leaving the door open behind him for Sam. The dogs melted into the darkness, and he hesitantly followed after his brother,. He found himself in a kitchen, and not just any kitchen. A _huge_ kitchen, with marble countertops, wooden floors, and the biggest fridge he'd ever seen. The blonde haired woman from the picture was sitting at the table eating ice cream with another man, one of the guys from the deer hunting picture Dean had.

He stood back, watching curiously when both of them looked up, apparently shocked to see Dean there.

"Hey," Dean greeted them both, grinning wide and holding his arms out. "Didja miss me?"

"Dean!"

And then the woman, Paige, launched herself at him, and to Sam's utter shock, Dean caught her, laughing as he did so, scooped her up in his arms, spun her around in a circle, and kissed her full on the lips. He felt his jaw drop, meeting the eyes of the dark-haired guy still eating ice cream, who grinned lazily at him and winked.

"You said you weren't going to be back until Wednesday!" Paige said with a laugh, running a hand through Dean's hair.

Dean nodded at the dark-haired man. "Hey, Jared."

"Welcome home, Dean," Jared replied. "She's been annoying as hell for the past few days."

"I'm sure."

Jared just laughed and went back to his bowl of ice cream.

"And did I say that?" he asked, grinning down at the woman in his arms. "I don't remember."

Paige rolled her eyes. "Of course you don't, Mr. No-Short-Term-Memory." She looked at him quizzically for a moment. "And your hair is a mess. What did you do, stick your finger in a light socket?"

Dean grinned cheekily. "Maybe," he hedged, and she laughed. He then turned to face Sam and set her on her feet.

"Who's this, Sam?" Paige asked, smiling at Sam, her blue eyes twinkling. Sam was staring at them, his eyes narrowed - had Jared said _Welcome home_? He was so confused, and only half-awake, that all he really wanted to do was go back to sleep. That was of course assuming that he wasn't dreaming all of this. It seemed surreal enough for that to be a very likely option.

"Paige, this is my brother, Sam." Dean took a deep breath, his green eyes steady on his brother's. "And Sammy, this is my wife, Paige."

Sam couldn't believe what he was hearing. He was now utterly convinced he was still asleep in the Impala, in some weird alternate universe dream that had huge houses and scary guard dogs. There was no way Dean was married, no way he lived in this house, and no way he had three dogs named Fritz, Klaus, and Perseus. None of this dream was making any sense, so he said the only word that came to mind.

"What?"

* * *

Bwahaha…one of the many bombs to be dropped on Sam in the next few chapters. So…like, dislike? (Oh and timetowaste247, you get to see some parts of the new Dean in the next chapter!)


	7. Chapter 7

Author's Note: This chapter was really fun to write. Hope you guys enjoy it. Let me know what you guys think of this new Dean! And please note he is, again, still going to be the same old Dean, just with a few new layers to him, that's all. I'm not planning on changing him completely.

* * *

"What?"

Dean and Paige were smiling at him. "You asked me why I had a tan line on my left ring finger, Sammy," Dean reminded his little brother. "Guess I should have remembered how observant you are. It's because I'm married."

"Married?"

"Married," Paige confirmed, leaning into Dean's side when he wrapped an arm around her waist.

"Married," Sam mumbled.

"I think he's having a hard time grasping the whole marriage concept," Dean whispered in his wife's ear, and she grinned in return.

"Well, maybe you should have told him," she whispered back. "That way he wouldn't look like a deer in the headlights in the middle of my kitchen."

"I believe it's _our _kitchen."

"Uhuh. When do you _ever _cook?"

"Hey, I can barbeque!" Dean protested with a crooked grin and a wink.

Sam straightened, his hands coming out of his pockets and balling into fists. "You got married and didn't _tell _me?" he bellowed, interrupting their playful banter. The couple regarded him with twin expressions of surprise, and Paige also with muted amusement.

Dean was unimpressed by his brother's sudden temper. "I did tell you. Or at least I tried to. Too bad for you that every time I called, you hung up, or just didn't pick up the phone at all," he replied coldly.

Jared suddenly stood. "Well, I got cows to drive in the mornin'. Talk to you both tomorrow. Sam, nice to meet you. Night, y'all," he said, striding quickly out of the kitchen, Paige and Dean's farewells echoing after him. It was obvious he couldn't get out of the house fast enough.

Sam would worry about the other man later. Right then, the realization hit him like a freight train, and guilt shot through him like a knife. Dean had been talking about this when he'd come to Stanford to enlist his help in finding their dad. And he'd _completely _ignored him.

_Twice I called you, Sammy. __With the most important news of my life – and my own family can't even be bothered to pick up the damn phone._

Twice. He'd said twice. Their marriage was obviously the first…but the second? He frowned in thought, trying to…_oh my God._

Dean, as if reading his brother's thoughts, reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the envelope he'd tried to give Sam after their fight, the very one he had refused to see. Sam snatched it out of his hands and ripped open the envelope, staring down in shock at a photograph.

Of a baby. Sam felt his eyes widen as he grabbed it and held it up in front of his eyes, carefully reading the words through tear-fogged eyes. _Dean and Paige Winchester proudly announce the newest member of the Winchester family..._

He looked at his brother with incredulous eyes. "You…you had a baby?"

Before Dean could reply, a little boy appeared in the doorway. He paused for a second, thumb in his mouth, one hand clutching a blue blanket. As soon as he noticed the people in the room, he sprinted for Dean, arms outstretched. Dean swept him up into his arms and hugged him, kissing him on his soft blonde hair. "Hey, you," he greeted him, his voice rough with suppressed emotion, rubbing his back soothingly. "Sammy, this is your Uncle Sam."

All Sam could do was stare, mouth agape. The boy looked to be about two, with honey blonde hair and Dean's vivid green eyes. He was the most beautiful little boy Sam could ever have imagined ever belonged to Dean. His big brother was a father…which was quite possibly the weirdest thing he'd ever thought.

"Sammy?" he repeated, regaining his voice and accepting he was certainly _not _dreaming. "Please tell me you didn't name him that."

"Samuel Dean Winchester," Dean said clearly, smiling proudly at his son. "Paige picked the middle name, and we agreed on the first." He slung his arm over his wife's shoulders and pulled her into his side to kiss her temple.

Sammy rested his head on his dad's shoulder, one arm wrapped around his father's neck, the other hanging limply over Dean's arm. He fixed his gaze on Sam almost solemnly. Dean kissed his hair. "Somebody's not quite awake yet, huh?"

Sammy shook his head, eyes still locked on his uncle. The gaze was almost unnerving to Sam. The kid had apparently inherited Dean's exact look whenever he was intense or focused.

Dean grabbed a cup out of the fridge, not letting go of one of the four most precious people in his world. Sammy leaned back and grinned, sucking eagerly at the lip of the sippy cup, downing the orange juice in a matter of minutes. The entire time he gazed up at his father, who gazed back with a loving smile, while Sam stared at Dean and tried to figure out who he was and what he'd done with his brother.

Paige shook her head. "One month is too long, Dean. He's trying to figure out who you are," she laughed. "He knows, he's just not quite sure." She kissed her son's arm, and Sammy giggled.

"Mommy," he crooned, holding out the empty sippy cup. "Mowh!"

"You've had enough, munchkin," Dean told him, kissing his cheek, easily translating the baby speech for 'more'. "Too close to bedtime."

Sammy smiled at him radiantly, the dimple fully visible. He'd be a heartbreaker when he grew up, that was for sure. He pointed at Dean and said simply, "Daddy."

Dean's expression froze, then split into a wonderful, wide smile. He tapped his son lightly on the chest. "Sammy," he told him softly, kissing his forehead. All at once Sammy slumped back onto his father's shoulder with a yawn, one little arm wrapping trustilngly around Dean's neck, slipping his thumb in his mouth. His gaze on Sam was almost questioning.

Then he sat up and held out his arms to Sam. Not knowing what else to do, Sam obliged and lifted the child into his arms, looking down at him. Then the baby grinned.

Sam grinned back, the ice melting abruptly all at once. The child was angelic, with his honey blonde hair and eyes the exact shade of his Dean's, and the little cleft in his chin and dimple in his cheek that flashed every time he grinned. The boy's delight at being alive thawed the ice around Sam's heart a little bit more every minute, and it warmed him to know that Paige and Dean had named the gorgeous baby lovingly after him. "Hi, Sammy," he said softly, settling him awkwardly in his arms. Sammy just stared up at him, thumb in his mouth. And then he pulled his thumb out of his mouth and placed a kiss on Sam's cheek, making him start in surprise and stare down at him in shock. The boy just grinned and stuck his arms back out for his mommy this time.

"Come on, monkey boy, bath time," Paige said, taking her son from Sam.

Sammy was shaking his head vigorously, thumb in his mouth again, though he was grinning.

"Oh, yes," she said, pulling his shirt up and blowing raspberries on his stomach. He screeched in delight as she disappeared out the doorway and off somewhere Sam couldn't see.

Without Sammy in the room, Sam became hollow again, and sat down at the table. "Talk," he ordered Dean, voice not angry, but tired.

Dean sat across from him. "After you left for college, I came to stay out here for a while," he began, folding his arms on the table, staring down at the back of his hand. "I took a break from hunting for a while. Even got a part-time job at the fire department. Jared and Michael Knox became my best friends, as did Elliot and Danny Newbern. And…I liked it. I liked having some normal aspects of my life.

"Paige and I started out as just really good friends. But we started to grow closer, and before I knew it, Sammy, man, was I in love with her. I was in love with her, with this lifestyle, with Wyoming, with the peace and tranquility of this place. We got married almost three years ago. I was going to ask you to be my best man, but you didn't answer, so Jared was my best man instead. We moved here right after the honeymoon, and I helped her run the ranch.

"Sammy was born on May 12, 2004. It was one of the happiest moments of my life, right up there with when you were born and when I married Paige. I worked odd jobs every now and then at dad's suggestion, mostly alone, sometimes with Jared or Elliot, and sometimes Mike. Being in one place for so long was kind of weird at first, but that faded after a while and I got used to it. I didn't even realise I'd settled down until after I was married, and by then, I didn't really care. Every day I watched my son grow bigger, watched his first steps, heard his first word. It seemed every day I was falling more in love with my wife and with my son, too. And then dad turned up, demanding I do a hunt down in New Orleans for him.

"So I did, because as much as I loathe to admit it, I love the dude. And then he went missing, and I came to get you." Dean looked up at his brother, no shame in his eyes from his confession. "And I'm sorry that I didn't tell you, Sammy. But dad didn't even know. He never asked. So I never told. I guess I figured that if you guys didn't have the decency to pick up the damn phone, you didn't deserve to have that little boy in your life. Maybe it was selfish. I don't know. All I know is that I love the both of them more than my own life."

"So the Knox's and Newbern's go hunting with you?"

"Sometimes. It's kind of a family business, I guess you could say."

Sam didn't fell like pressing for elaboration, and would save that explanation for another time. "Why'd you name him after me, Dean?" he asked instead.

Dean looked at him steadily, his green eyes completely serious. "Because, Sam, you're my brother," he said quietly. "And I love you more than I think even you know." He cleared his throat, slightly uncomfortable with the touchy-feely crap, and stood. "Come on. I'll show you what room you can sleep in."

Sam followed. He grabbed the back of Dean's jacket halfway up the stairs to stop him. "Dean," he said, waiting for his brother to look at him. "I'm happy for you. Really. And…thank you. For being there for me my entire life."

A ghost of a smile passed his brother's face. "Anytime, Sammy," he said. "After all, what's a big brother for?"

The room Dean showed him was simple guest room – queen bed, empty closet, warm and inviting colors and plush pillows that looked _really_ comfortable. He went down to the Impala and got his stuff, carrying it back up to his room. He could hear his brother's voice – a soft mumble he recognized all too well – from the living room. Moving forward, he paused in the shadowed hallway, looking into the family room.

Dean was sitting on the couch with one arm around his wife and the other around his son. Sammy was curled trustingly and very comfortably between his parents, thumb in his mouth and eyes wide as _The Lion King_ came onto the TV screen.

"Your favorite, Sammy," Dean said, kissing the top of his son's head.

"More like your favorite," Paige countered. "And if you start quoting it again, I'm going to smack you."

Dean laughed at that, and Sam, not wanting to intrude on their family time, crept back upstairs and lay down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Tears pricked at his eyes, and he rolled over, staring at the opposite wall instead. He would never see ceilings in the same light again, not after seeing Jess…_don't think about it. _It took him a moment to realize that he was looking at a picture of Dean and Paige's wedding. Reaching out, he gently tipped the frame downward as a wave of depression washed over him.

He regretted leaving Dean more than anything in his life…the hurt he'd seen in Dean's eyes when he'd walked away without a glance still echoed across the years. He'd thought Dean would stay the same cocky smartass, know it all, bad boy jerk he'd been for Sam's entire childhood and adolescence. But the man downstairs…he was openly loving to his family, married to a beautiful woman, the father of a little boy, owner of this house and three dogs, and to be quite honest, he never could have imagined that Dean would ever have a "normal apple-pie life".

Sam had just assumed that, well, _he _had been the only one to want a normal life. It had never even occurred to him to ask his brother if he wanted the same thing, if he even _liked _living as a hunter, doing jobs and following dad's orders, whether he complained about it or not. The thought made him feel guilty, because obviously Dean had wanted a normal life, or he wouldn't be half-living it right now. And he'd never even had the decency to ask him, his own big brother, who had put his life on the line over and over again throughout their time hunting together, who was really more of a father to him than his own father was.

In all the years he'd known Dean, he'd never felt more isolated from him.

His big brother had changed, but for better or for worse, Sam wasn't sure. And on that unsteady thought, he dropped into sleep.

Every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was Jess.

* * *

Sam groggily opened his eyes and groaned, lifting his head slightly to look at the clock. It read nine fifty-four in the morning, and soft light was filtering through the curtains over his window. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, grumbling as he stretched his stiff muscles, his joints popping loudly as he forced them to move. He'd slept better this time, not as plagued as memories of Jess, though the part of him that had once been so deeply connected to hers was an empty chasm.

At least he'd managed to squeeze in a few solid hours.

The floor was slightly cold, and he hopped for a minute, cursing and tucking his arms close to his chest. With a huge yawn, he walked into the long hallway, heading for the stairs. He made no sound going down them, and headed straight for the kitchen, having already memorized that part of the floor plan.

The kitchen was empty, but there was a half-ful pot of coffee and a note on the fridge.

_Morning sleeping beauty. Paige promised to make us breakfast when we get back around ten. She's out running erands with Sammy and her friend Ally.  
__-Dean_

Sam vaguely wondered just what exactly Dean would be doing awake this early in the morning, which was very unlike the Dean remembered. He shrugged it off and picked up the coffee cup he suspected his brother had left out for him, pouring himself a cup and dumping in generous amounts of sugar and milk, leaning against the counter and sipping it idly.

The kitchen was open, bright, and friendly – tall windows stretched from the floor to the ceiling and offered a one hundred and eighty degree view of the ranch. There was a giant building behind and off to the left of the main house, and was obviously a barn. The paddocks he'd seen on the way in last night were now filled with grazing horses, their tails flicking lazily in the morning sun.

He moved to stand in front of the sink, looking out the wide window thrown wide open to let in the breeze. The flowers in the box gave off a sweet scent that he sniffed appreciatively. The land stretched on for miles, and far off to the left of the barn, there were wide open fields being plowed by a giant tractor moving methodically in rows, and far in the distance, great wide fields with little specks he assumed were cattle. Assuming all the land belonged to this ranch, there was a hell of a lot of it.

A porch wrapped around the back half of the house, he noted. There was a swing on the porch, and it looked comfortable. So Sam headed outside and sat down in it, unsurprised to find it well-used and extremely comfortable with its plump pillows. He pushed off the ground with one foot, and the swing swayed gently back and forth. He smiled slightly and closed his eyes – he could perfectly picture Dean and Paige sitting here in their eighties telling stories to their oodles of grandkids.

It was…peaceful, he noticed. He understood what Dean had meant by that. There was no roar of cars, no helicopters, no chatter of people. Just the soft breeze blowing through the grass and the occasional soft snort and whinny of one of the horses grazing in the paddocks, and the hum of the tractor in the distance if the breeze blew just right. At the same time, though, it was so…isolated.

He heard pounding hoof beats and stood, walking down the porch steps, his toes tingling when they came into contact with the cool grass beneath his feet. It was all he could do not to drop his coffee cup when a horse came cantering up, and seated in the saddle on the massive beast's back was none other than Dean Winchester.

The horse skidded to a halt, snorting, throwing its head up slightly. A quick glance confirmed Sam's suspicions that it was a stallion. He was a tall horse – nearly six feet at the withers, the junction between a horse's neck and back – and had a shining brown-black coat, called a seal bay if he remembered correctly from his limited equine knowledge. The stallion fixed an eye on him, the sienna iris twinkling with what appeared to be a bit of the devil. He took a quick step back, remembering that stallions were often hard to control.

"Whoa, Sergeant," Dean soothed, patting the stallion's neck. He was dressed in blue jeans, ropers, brown chaps, and a white collared button-up shirt that was tucked into his belt. Over that he wore his usual leather jacket. On his head rested a white Stetson, and there were two thick work gloves sticking out of a pouch on the stallion's western-style saddle. There was a considerable length of coiled rope around the saddle horn, and the reins were held loosely in Dean's right hand, his left elbow propped on the saddle horn while he grinned down at his brother.

"You can ride a horse?" Sam questioned, eyes wide in astonishment as he stared up at the brother he currently barely recognized.

Dean laughed and shifted his weight slightly, the saddle creaking with his movement. "Sure can," he agreed, grinning. "You sorta have to learn when you marry the granddaughter of the richest 'cattle baron' this side of the Mississippi." He patted the stallion again, who shifted and stamped a foot into the dirt, his ears flicking back and forth at the sound of Dean's voice. "This here's Sergeant. He was a present from Paige for my birthday last year."

"What kind of horse is it?" Sam couldn't deny the horse was beautiful, and muscular, too. He looked like he could go a few rounds with a bull and make it out unscathed.

"Quarter Horse, Sammy," Dean said, removing his hat and whacking it against his leg a few times to loosen any dirt on his chaps. "Most horses in this state are, though we've got a few Appendix Horses here – that's a cross between a Quarter and a Thoroughbred, the one's used for racing – and my wife keeps a few horses for her English riding style. She's got two Dutch Warmbloods, a Hanoverian, a Thoroughbred, and her prized Appendix stallion Colby." He sighed. "Not that it matters, because you don't have any idea what I'm talking about. Sarge here is my roping horse, and he's good at cutting, too. I use him out in the fields with the cows."

"Where were you?"

"Out with the cattle. I was nice and let you sleep in. I've been up since four helping Jared, Michael, Ty, and Chuck drive the herd into our west pasture."

"Ty and Chuck?"

"Our ranch hands," Dean explained, setting the Stetson back on his head. "You'll get to meet them for breakfast. Paige is out with her friend Ally running errands, in case you didn't get my note. She'll be joining us for breakfast. We'll all be back by ten-thirty at the latest. I just have to wrap up the cattle situation, take care of this big fella here" – he slapped Sergeant's neck affectionately – "and then I'll be in to wash up and join you."

With that, Dean tipped his hat, spun the stallion, and rode off back into the pasture, closing the giant gate behind him from the back of his horse.

Sam suddenly couldn't hold back his grin.

His brother was a goddamn cowboy.


	8. Chapter 8

Author's Note: Well, now I have to bring the original story back in a bit. Time for Sam to set out on his little crusade for revenge. Thanks a million for the reviews guys, you keep me inspired to keep writing!

Oh, and I realized I made a typo: Jared and Michael Knox are Paige's cousins from her mom's side of the family, because Wendy's maiden name is Knox. Sorry about that.

* * *

Paige walked down the halls of the local supermarket, Hal's Grocery, putting everything she needed into the shopping cart. Sammy was sitting in the shopping cart seat facing her, playing with a Jedi Knight joy and making funny noises as he did so. Her best friend Ally Baraldi trailed behind her, her sixteen-month-old son and Paige's godson Levi on her hip.

"Milk?" Ally questioned as they passed the dairy section. She was a woman of average height, with brown hair that fell to her shoulders and bangs that hung slightly in her eyes, partially concealing her amber eyes. Levi was holding tightly to her shirt with one pudgy little hand, his dark brown eyes curious as he stared at the cheese, his mop of dark brown hair untamed atop his head. The poor little guy looked half-awake and was uncharacteristically quiet.

"Nope, I got some last Wednesday," she replied, crossing cheese off the list in her hand as she tossed it into the cart.

"So are you happy Dean's home, then?" Ally asked.

"How do you always know what I'm thinking?" she wondered, laughing.

"Because we grew up together and I'm awesome like that."

Paige smiled and shook her head. Her best friend knew her too well. They'd known each other their entire lives, as their fathers were best friends, as were their grandfathers, and their great-grandfathers before them. The Newbern and Baraldi families had been close since the eighteen hundreds in pre-gold rush California. Their great-great-grandfathers, John Newbern and Joe Baraldi, had co-founded J & J Enterprises – which was, today, one of the three largest businesses in the US. J & J Enterprises was currently being run by Paige's father, Brad, and Ally's father, Anthony.

This meant that they were wealthy. Especially considering that their families had dealt in Californian real estate for over one hundred years. It allowed them to live comfortable lifestyles. Ally was a single mom and lived in a sweet little three-bedroom home in California, near Stanford where she was attending school to become a federal prosecutor. Her parents lived in California, as did her brother, and Paige's sister Claire. Red Hill Ranch was the ranch Paige had inherited from her Grandpa Roy Knox upon his death five years ago, and she had split the gigantic property between herself and two cousins, Jared and Mike. They ran the property together.

"Yes, I am," she replied with a sigh. "I hate it when he's gone. I don't sleep very well."

"Plus you don't get much love…"

Laughing, Paige lightly slapped her friend's shoulder. "Ally!" she protested.

"What?" Ally demanded, though she was grinning. She rolled her eyes. "You _know _I'm right."

"Oh, always," she teased. "Just like I _know _you're going to tell me who Levi's father is."

Ally smiled. "Never," she said solemnly.

"Case in point."

"That's my line!"

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah!"

"Too bad," Paige said with a grin. She evaded Ally's slap easily. "Come on. We've got hungry men to feed."

"Correction. _You've _got hungry men to feed. _I _have to be getting back to the motel to make sure they didn't get rid of my room."

"You _can _stay with us, you know," she pointed out. "The ranch house has twenty rooms."

"Enjoy the time you have with Dean," Ally ordered, holding up a finger. "If what you told me is true, now that Jessica is dead, Sam is probably going to want to get revenge. Which means that _you _get to see less of Dean." She looked pointedly at Paige's stomach. "And you might want to tell your hubby exactly what's going on there, too."

Paige subconciously put a hand on her stomach. "I will."

"Good," Ally said with a smile, giving her a one armed hug. She bounced her half-asleep son gently, kissing the top of his head. "Lee and I should be going, then."

Paige took her godson and kissed him loudly on both cheeks. "See you tomorrow, big guy," she promised, hugging him tight before handing him back to Ally. "And see you for dinner?"

"Maybe," Ally sighed, checking her watch. "I have to finish that term paper that's due in two weeks. I'll call you when I know more."

"Alright, you'd better."

"Promise." And with one last smile from both her and her son, Ally was gone.

Paige smiled down at her son. "Come on, Sammy," she said, ruffling his hair. "Let's go check out and go home to feed daddy."

"Okay," Sammy agreed with a toothy grin.

She just smiled and walked to the check-out counter.

* * *

Dean dragged his feet slightly as he headed out of the stables and towards the main house. His thoughts were troubled, and the focus of them was Sam. His brother had woken him and Paige up more than once last night, screaming his head off, sometimes shouting incoherent sounds, other times screaming Jess at the top of his voice.

He's gotten up three times to sit with Sam until his screaming faded into a soft, heart-wrenching whimpering. His baby brother was in so much pain, and Dean didn't know what to do to help. So he had done the only thing he could by just being there even if Sam hadn't had the slightest clue.

The thought of seeing his family made him brighten slightly, though. Sammy had fallen asleep sprawled on his chest halfway through the Lion King last night, and his wife had passed out on his shoulder. He'd put his son down for the night before coming back downstairs and carrying his wife to their bed. They hadn't exactly slept much, so now he was tired, having been up since four driving the cows.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he turned the knob and stepped into the kitchen. Sam was sitting at the table reading the newspaper, and Sammy was playing with his truck on the table, rolling it across the wooden surface to Jared. Jared was sipping coffee and nudging the toy with his hand every time the little boy asked him to. At the head of the table sat Brad Newbern himself, black Stetson hanging on the peg behind him. He glanced up from his Blackberry and winked at Dean before returning to the device. And, at the stove, stood his wife, five pans spread out and featuring a different type of breakfast food each.

Paige immediately looked up, and he smiled. She returned the gesture before going back to scrambling the eggs. Sammy hopped off his chair and came running with a delighted cry of "Daddy!"

Dean swung him up into his arms and kissed him on the cheek, emotion making his throat tight. His son had only just started calling him that, but every time he did, it wrenched at his heart strings. "Morning, buddy," he greeted his son, settling him on his hip. His son rested his head on his shoulder and quietly watched his mother scrambling the eggs. When he started to squirm, he set him back down again and headed for his wife.

Her only reaction when he slipped his arms around her waist was to lean back against him. He tenderly kissed the side of her neck and rested his cheek against her temple. "Good morning," he greeted her quietly.

"Good morning yourself," Paige replied with a smile. "Did you have fun this morning?"

He snorted. "Hardly," he said. "No matter how many times I do it, I never get used to being up at four and on the back of a horse driving stubborn cattle in the dark."

"I don't think anyone gets used to it."

"Well, I don't blame them."

Paige turned her head to look at him, her expression serious. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, fine."

She cocked an eyebrow, obviously not believing him.

Dean sighed. "Alright, it bothers me that he's in so much pain," he admitted in a voice so soft even Paige could barely hear him. "But there's nothing I can do. And I've got you and Sammy to worry about."

"That you do," she agreed, kissing the side of his neck. "Go. Sit and talk with him. I'll finish up here."

"Need any help?"

"That's okay. I like my kitchen being not on fire, thanks."

He rolled his eyes at the pointed jab – he'd only done that once, after all – and sat beside his brother at the kitchen table, grabbing his son and settling him in his lap. "Morning," he greeted them all.

"Morning," Sam said quietly.

"How are the cows?" Brad asked instead of greeting him, putting his newspaper down and folding his arms on the table, his hazel eyes intense.

"Fine," Dean replied, bouncing Sammy on his knee and smiling when he giggled and clapped his hands together. "Why wouldn't they be?"

Brad shrugged, scratching the back of his head. He was a tall man, standing at six foot six, with hair so dark it looked black and sharp hazel eyes that didn't miss a trick. He had an easy smile and an extremely dry sense of humor.

"Sam, this is Brad Newbern," Dean introduced them. "Brad, this is my brother, Sam."

"Ah, the Stanford student," Brad mused with a smile, reaching across the table to shake his hand. "It's nice to officially meet you. Sorry about that, I'm just not very chatty until I've read my paper in the mornings."

"Likewise," Sam said with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I've heard everything about you."

"Oh, I certainly hope not," he replied.

"Like how you can tell me where my dad is."

"John?" Brad's eyebrows drew together. "Last time I saw him was almost a week ago. He was passing through to Jericho. Wouldn't say where he was going. Haven't heard a thing since, which is weird. He usually calls at least once a week."

"For what purpose?" Sam demanded, leaning forward, his gaze intense and face blank of emotion. It was almost like he was willing Brad to tell him what he wanted to know. "Why does he call once a week?"

Brad leaned back until his chair was resting on two legs and crossed his arms. "Don't you go using your mediocre interrogation attempts on me, boy," he warned, emotion melting from his face. "I was a cop for sixteen years before my father passed along the family company, and a Marine for four years before that. And I spent a lot of time in court. Your beginner tactics won't work on me."

Dean sighed and rolled his eyes in unison with his wife and Jared. Brad could get pretty touchy when he felt he was being pushed around.

"However, as I happen to like your brother and father one hell of a lot, I'll humor you," he continued, dropping his chair back to the floor. "I'm a retired hunter. Retired hunters do one of three things: die violent deaths, try to live a normal life, or stay connected to the hunting world and become what hunters call Informants. I'm an Informant. I gather up information I can find about potential hunts and get it into the right hands so that it can be circulated to the hunters."

"And that's how you met my dad?"

"No. I met your dad in the Marines, briefly, and again when I had a poltergeist in my house. It was a real nasty one, too." Brad's gaze shifted to Paige, who smiled slightly and nodded in permission for him to continue. "Put my wife into premature labor. She had our twins Garrett and Claire two months early, and Garrett died the next day. Claire made it, thank God. Then the damn thing nearly tore my baby girl to shreds. She was only three."

"Paige was attacked by a poltergeist?"

"Yep. And if it wasn't for your dad killing the damn thing, it probably would have killed my entire family. I would have killed it myself, but I was back East for my great-grandfather's funeral. I owed him after that, but he became a good buddy of mine. He left you boys with us for a time while he was up north on a hunt."

"So you have no idea where he is," said Sam. It was a statement, not a question.

"'Fraid not, son," Brad sighed, rubbing a hand through his dark hair, graying at the temples. "Your dad is one of the most damn confusing people I've ever met. The way he tracks that thing…I can't even understand it, and believe me, he's tried to explain it." He shook his head. "He's alive until you find his body, that much I guarantee you. And unless he wants to be found, you'll never find him. I'm sorry, but I don't know where he is any more than you do."

The door creaked open distracting from the conversation. In stepped two more cowboys who removed their shoes and hung their hats on the hooks. Dean stood with Sammy in his arms to introduce Ty and Chuck, their ranch hands, to his little brother. "Sammy, this is Ty and Chuck, Ty and Chuck, my brother Sam."

They both smiled and shook his hand. Ty was twenty-one, had thick slightly curly black hair, had a skinny but well-muscles frame, was six foot three, and had gray eyes that sparkled with mirth. Chuck (short for Charles), on the other hand, was twenty-three, had blonde hair and soft blue eyes, stood at six feet and two inches, had broad shoulders and thick muscles in both thighs and torso, and was the shyer of the two. Both of them sat at the table, and Brad struck up conversation about the ranch that Dean quickly joined, leaving Sam to try to figure out what they were talking about.

Paige appeared suddenly with plates that she placed in front of all of them. She settled Sammy into a high chair, and re-appeared moments later with serving platters piled high with pancakes, sausage, fresh eggs, bacon, homemade biscuits, and toast. The hungry men attacked them with gusto, and the kitchen was quiet for a while except for her trying to coax Sammy to eat.

"So, Jared, did you ever figure out what killed that cow?" Ty asked after a while, breaking the silence.

Jared hastily chewed the food in his mouth and swallowed before answering. "Nope," he said calmly. "Tracked it for a while, but my hunting dog Duke lost the trail up in the foothills. From the tracks I saw, figure it was a few coyotes, maybe a wolf."

"Wolf?" Sam questioned, eyebrows raised. Jared smiled at him.

"They hardly ever venture down this far, but game is scarce this year 'cause of the drought. I'd bet some of 'em are desperate now that winter's getting near." He shrugged. "My cow was just unlucky. She was alive when I found her, though, which means whatever it was didn't get much from her. The wounds were fresh."

"Too bad," Ty said seriously. "The drought had lots of folks worried. Crops and livestock won't be as good this year as they were last."

"We'll just have to wait for hunting season to roll around," Jared said, wiping his mouth with his napkin. "Got a few big bucks last time we went with Dean. Hopefully we'll get lucky again. Still got some venison in my garage freezer, in case times get rough."

"We mostly live off the land, Sam," Dean explained, smiling at Sam's confused expression. "Crops and livestock are a big part of the economy of this state. When those fail, it can really hurt us."

Sam nodded in understanding, taking a bit bite of eggs to avoid any talking. He was disappointed that his dad had disappeared again, and found himself wishing that he'd implanted a tracking device in John's shoe before he'd left for Stanford and never looked back. Until now.

* * *

"Dean?"

Dean closed his eyes briefly, knowing what was coming and not wanting to think about it. He'd just put Sammy down for his afternoon nap. Sighing, he turned to face his brother. "Yeah, Sam," he said tiredly, rubbing his eyes.

"I need to find Jessica's killer."

"Heard you the first fifty times, dude."

Sam narrowed his eyes, obviously determined to have this conversation right now. "Will you help me?" he deadpanned.

He sighed, wanting more than anything to join his wife in their room, where he knew she was taking her usual afternoon nap while Sammy slept. "Yeah, Sam," he said wearily. "We'll leave for Blackwater Ridge tomorrow morning after breakfast."

"I want to leave now."

"I don't," Dean countered. "And unless you plan on walking, you can wait another day."

Sam pursed his lips, eyes flashing angrily. "Fine," he growled, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets. "Seven."

"Eight. Paige will have breakfast on the table by seven."

"I won't be hungry."

"Tough, Sam. You need to eat. I don't care how emo you are over Jess's death, eating is still important."

Sam's eyes narrowed over Dean's insensitivity.

"Tough love, man," Dean said with a slight smile. "I'm not about to let you starve. Now, if you don't mind, I'm tired and would like to join my wife for our afternoon nap."

His little brother looked surprised. "You take naps?" he said incredulously.

"I've been up since four o'clock in the f***ing morning, Sam," Dean snapped, his temper flaring. "Of course I'm going to take a goddamn nap. Now piss off."

Sam held up his hands and backed away. He'd forgotten over the years how pissy Dean was if he didn't get a set amount of sleep every night. "Okay," he relented, letting the subject drop. "I guess I'll see you in–"

The rest of his sentence was cut off when the door slammed in his face. Sighing in relief, Dean kicked off his boots and pulled off his clothes, slipping into his sleeping pants instead, which were much more comfortable than his jeans. His bedroom was dark and Paige was already under the covers.

He pulled the blanket back and slipped into bed beside her, sighing when his head hit the pillow. Reaching over, he gently grabbed his wife's hips and pulled her back against his chest, kissing the nape of her neck.

"Why'd you slam the door?" she whispered.

"Sam's being annoying as hell," he explained, wrapping his arms around her. He rolled her over so that she was facing him and slipped his hand under her shirt, resting his palms against the warm skin of her back. "And I'm tired."

"Me, too. He screamed a lot last night."

Dean sighed, feeling like a broken record for all the sighing he'd been doing lately. "I know. In time hopefully the nightmares will fade, but my dad still has them sometimes, so I seriously doubt that."

"You're going with him to find your dad, aren't you?" she asked quietly, her heart pounding unevenly at the thought of so much time without him. She stared at his collarbone, feeling his eyes on her but refusing to lift her gaze. His fingers gently forced her chin up until their gazes were level.

"Yes," he admitted, kissing her. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Paige bit her lip and reached around to grab one of his hands, pulling it around and holding it against her belly, trying to ignore the effect that the heat of his palm had on her bare skin. She looked right in his eyes and smiled, feeling her love for him fill her with peace. "But there might be one more person waiting for you this time."

Dean's eyes went wide as he stared down at her in shock. He stared down at their hands, looking back up at his wife with the question in his gaze. She nodded, and a wide, ecstatic smile almost split his face in half. Joy filled him as he pulled her close to kiss her. "How long?" he whispered, cupping her cheek in one hand while the other rested against her still-flat stomach.

"Almost three weeks," she said, smiling. "The baby's due July fifth."

Not very tired anymore, he rolled them both over so that he was on top of her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, resting his weight on his forearms. "I love you," he told her softly.

Paige laughed. "I love you too," she said with a smile, warmth filling her at his words. Her hands settled in his hair, pulling him closer. "Now shut up and kiss me, husband."

Dean grinned. "Yes, ma'am," he teased, before leaning down and doing just that.

**

* * *

**

Author's Note:

Hey guys. Sorry if I offended anyone with the emo comment, but it's in my own personal experience in dealing with grief that tough love is necessary to snap people out of it. And Dean and Sam are pretty good with the whole tough love thing. Was Dean's comment harsh? Yep. Was it necessary? Absolutely. Did it hurt Sammy's feelings? Uh-huh. Will there be some fluffy moments between them later? You betcha! :P

Seriously, though. Sam doesn't eat enough. I mean, Dean's eating ALL THE TIME. Sam? Not so much. The comment is obviously going to piss Sam off, but in the long run, he stil eats and doesn't end up skinny as a stick...anyway, gotta go type the next one now. Let me know what you think - and can anyone guess what gender the baby's going to be? And review, review! Feedback is awesome! Thanks.


	9. Chapter 9

Author's Note: So apparently I'm making Dean too mean. I guess I should've hinted that there's a reason behind that…one that's explained right now. I guess he's going to have to be nicer, though, apparently... anyway, moving onward. This chapter is shorter, and has some heart-to-heart between Sam and Paige, something I think Sammy really needs. Hope you like. Next chapter is Wendigo into Dead in the Water, so expect a long one and lots of Lucas!

(And for future reference, tell me if I'm getting confusing! Sometimes I know what's going on in my head but I can't communicate it on paper – sorry for those Sammy lovers, I'm kind of bashing on him at the moment…unfortunately a bit of anger over last week's episode, as I want to smack Sam upside the head right now, but still…*grimace* My apologies.)

Disclaimer: Don't own anything except for my OC's.

* * *

Paige woke up early for reasons unknown, warm in the circle of her husband's arms. She didn't particularly want to get up, but Dean and Sam would be hungry, and Sammy was going to be up soon. She laid there for a while, watching him sleep, marveling at how peaceful he looked in slumber, when all the worry and stress left his face. Here, like this, he did look his young age of twenty-six. Reaching up, she trailed her fingers lightly down the scar on his cheek.

As the clock neared five-thirty, she gently untangled herself from his arms and out from under the covers. Shivering slightly from the cold, she stepped into her slippers and headed downstairs to start breakfast.

When she clicked on the light, she bit back a scream as her hand flew to her heart.

Sam was sitting at the kitchen table in the clothes he'd been wearing yesterday, staring down at his hands. He didn't even glance up at her.

"Sam, you scared me," she said, recovering quickly. "Everything okay?"

He looked up at her, and the first thing she noticed were the wet streaks of tears down his cheeks. The second was that his eyes were red and puffy. Sniffing loudly, he wiped his cheeks and looked away from her. With a sigh, she sat beside him and awkwardly hugged his mammoth frame, biting back tears when his forehead thudded heavily onto her shoulder and his arms circled her and held on for dear life. He didn't move for a long time, and she didn't let go of him. Needing to be comforted was something she understood perfectly. When he finally pulled away, she let him, smiling at him.

"Oh, Sam," she said. "What can I do?"

"Nothing," he said thickly. "It's just…"

"Just what?" she prodded gently.

"Jess. I…I miss her so much. Everything I see reminds me of her. Seeing you with him reminds me of her. And then I feel guilty for being jealous of him….and then he…just, Dean. He's being so…unlike himself. He said some stuff to me, and…" Sam exhaled loudly. "I feel like such a girl…but it really hurt. And I swear, Paige, I saw pain in his face. And I want to bash his face in for being such a jackass, but I just don't have the energy. I don't know what to do. I feel like I'm drowning. What is he not telling me?"

Understanding smacked Paige like a freight train. "Oh my God, he didn't tell you?" she whispered, shocked that Dean would stay silent.

Sam wiped his eyes. "He doesn't tell me anything," he said bitterly.

"Oh," she said softly, rubbing a hand over her face. "Well, did he explain that he came and stayed here for a while after you left for college?"

He nodded.

"And did he show you the picture of him, Jared, and Christopher when they went hunting last season?"

Sam nodded again. "Yeah," he admitted. And then he frowned. "Wait. Christopher? He said his name was Mike."

Paige's brow furrowed. "I wonder why he'd say that," she wondered. "But no, that wasn't Michael. His name was Christopher."

"How did they know each other?"

"Dean and Chris used to hunt together all the time," she explained. It was her turn to stare down at her hands, biting back tears as she tried to force the words out. "He was the same age as Dean and they got along really well, both being cocky smartasses and all that. They went down to Texas together for a violent spirit gig. The gig went off fine, but…they were attacked by a demon right outside the motel room. Dean wouldn't even talk to me about it, still really won't, in fact. I don't know the particulars, only that he came home covered in blood and bruises and with Chris in the back seat patched up the best Dean knew how. The surgeons here did everything in their power to save him, but he died that morning. He wouldn't even talk – to anyone – for nine days. After the funeral he stood by his grave all night, and then came back to the house and locked himself in the weapons room. Wouldn't even look at me or Sammy, and I can't tell you how much that hurt, Sam. Chris's wife Amy finally went in and talked to him, and he sort of snapped out of it and finally looked at me. It took a few days but he came back into himself…that was almost two years ago, now. He'll tell me snippets of what happened sometimes, but he blames himself for Chris' death. When he comes back from difficult hunts he always has nightmares. I've never heard anyone scream like that, at least until I heard you."

Sam paled, and Paige felt bad for brining up his nightmares. He cleared his throat and quickly changed the subject. "So was he your cousin?"

"No, Sam," Paige whispered, looking up at him. "He was my big brother."

"Oh," Sam said, not knowing what else to say. "I…I'm sorry."

Paige shrugged and smiled, patting his hand. "I'm an ex-Hunter, Sam. Death sort of...well, it's a part of the job description. It's been hard," she admitted. "But the pain is still as raw now as it was then. But Dean…" she sighed angrily, rubbing a hand over her face. "He doesn't air his feelings very willingly. He bottles them up inside and tries to put on a brave face. I usually have to beat them out of him. He was an ass to me for about a month after Chris died…and then I punched him on the nose and told him that if he didn't get over himself, I was going to leave him and take Sammy with me, because he may have been his best friend, but he was _my_ big brother."

Sam's mouth dropped open. "Whoa, harsh," he breathed.

"I was so scared he was just going to leave, but he didn't. He wasn't very happy, mind you, but he finally talked to me about it because he was afraid of losing me, too. He…well, he cried and I cried and when we talked about it; it didn't make the pain go away but it made both of us feel a little better. Most things went back to normal after that. But you can't mention Chris' name without my mom and sister breaking down in tears, and my dad just goes silent. And Dean, well..." She wiped her eyes and cleared her throat. "He goes white as a sheet and stalks out of the room. Anyway, if he's being an ass to you, too, talk to him. He might be more willing to open up about these kinds of things to you. If there's one thing I've learned about him since I married him, it's that he lets everyone burden him with their problems all they want, but when it's him that needs the comforting he just bottles it up instead of airing it out."

He sniffed loudly and blew his nose on a napkin, making a noise like a dying goose. Both of them laughed slightly but didn't get up.

"Can I say something without sounding weird?" Sam asked finally after a while.

"Of course."

"I really like you."

Paige smiled. "The feeling is mutual, you know."

Sam grabbed her hand when she tried to stand up, holding it tightly to keep her from moving away. "You're good for him," he continued.

"I try," she said.

"Did he always want this life?" He hoped the desperation didn't show in his voice.

"I don't know," she admitted, squeezing his hand slightly. "Maybe not before he found this little niche of the world. He told me once that everything changed after he met me. I didn't believe him at first, but that fact doesn't seem to have changed."

Sam still didn't let go of her hand, and she sat back down.

"I don't know why I need to tell you this, but Dean is a really_, really _good liar, Sam. He may laugh it off or push you away or claim he doesn't do chick flick moments, but really, he loves it when he can just _talk _to you about anything. Try that. Maybe he'll tell you everything you want to know, maybe not. But at least that way, he knows you care. Because right now, Sam, he is scared as hell."

"Dean isn't scared of anything," Sam protested automatically, something he'd been doing since he was a little kid who looked up to his awesome big brother, defending him despite the fact he was pissed at him.

"He's scared of a lot of things, Sam," Paige said, shaking her head. "First and foremost losing his family. Right now, though, he's terrified that you're going to end up like your dad. Or worse, like he did after Chris died: volatile and angry, striking out at everyone who loved him, isolating himself from the world and wallowing in his pain. I'm pretty sure he would rather cut off his own arm than watch you destroy yourself like he very nearly destroyed himself. Just promise me that on this hunt you won't do anything stupid."

Sam was surprised by her narrative, but hesitantly nodded just to see her smile. "I promise."

"Good. So, what do you want to eat?"

"I'm not hungry."

"I know. But you should eat something."

"Now you sound like Dean."

"He really loves you, you know."

Sam sighed and rubbed his eyes at the change in subject, smiling up at her. "I know. For so long, I felt like it was just me and him against the world."

"And if you starve to death, it's just Dean and the world, now isn't it?" she pressed.

He sighed. "You're awfully persistent for someone so small," he grumbled.

"I happen to be five feet and nine inches tall," Paige argued. "Just because _you're _freakishly tall doesn't mean that I'm short." She stabbed a finger into his chest, and he laughed and rubbed the spot, surprised at the force behind it.

"Alright, alright," Sam cried, throwing up his hands when she stepped towards him. "I'll eat!"

She grinned. "Great! Now help me get those pans down, will you?" she asked, pointing to a stack on the top of the fridge. "I usually just climb up on the counter, but…"

Sam was already reaching for them. "And why can't you grab them yourself?" he wondered as he handed them to her one at a time.

"Because Dean would kill me," she sighed. "Pregnant women aren't supposed to climb onto things they can fall off of."

A pan slammed into the top of Sam's head and he cussed loudly, holding the offending pan loosely in one hand and his head in the other. "What?" he yelped, surprised.

"I'm pregnant, Sam."

"With a baby?"

Paige rolled her eyes. "Duh, dorkweed," she said with a grin. "How many other types of pregnant are there?"

Sam smiled and watched her start working. Jess would always pain him, but after the talk with Dean's pretty little wife, he had to admit that he did feel a little better. The chasm within his heart had shrunk slightly. And he was going to take her advice and get the answers he wanted from his big brother, even if he had to beat them out of him. And that, not going to lie, was something he was looking forward to. Even if Dean could probably kick his ass if he really put his mind to it.

* * *

In Remembrance:

RIP  
Sgt. Christopher M. Evans, USMC  
1 January 1983 - 30 December 2009

&

Cpl. Jared B. Knox, USMC  
8 October 1987 – 11 October 2009

_"Step forward now, you soldier,  
You've borne your burdens well,  
Walk peacefully on Heaven's streets,  
You've done your time in Hell."  
__- _Final Inspection by Sgt. Joshua Helterbran

Topher, Jare – you guys are my heroes.  
Give Grampa Ray and Gammy Lena a kiss for me.  
Will love and miss you forever.  
Semper Fi.  
Hoorah!

~-~-~-~

So, after that depressing end note: Thoughts? Guesses on baby gender? Good, bad, too little Dean? Please Review!

-~-

And so that I don't have to answer should anyone ask, yes, Chris and Jared are my cousins, two of twenty (now eighteen) currently serving in the military. Yes, my characters in this are based off of them. They are indeed Marines, and yes, they did  
die in the line of duty doing their job for the United States Marine Corps, serving the United States of America in Iraq & Afghanistan. Words cannot describe the depth of my family's pain. So I understand Sam's position, I guess you could say.  
Anyway, off to write chapter ten now...


	10. Chapter 10

Author's Note: As I said, this one's long, longer than I thought it would be. I'm going over Dead in the Water in the next one because this one was so long, and after that I'm only going to drabble into certain eps along the seasonal timeline. Briefer than I'd like, but if I dwell forever on every episode I'll be here for three years. Plus I prefer adding stuff of my own. :) Anyway, enjoy, and please review!

Disclaimer: Don't know why I have to repeat this a million times, but again, don't own anything except for my OCs.

* * *

Dean was groggy upon waking up, blinking several times and trying to orient himself without much success. He reached a hand out with his eyes closed to find Paige's side of the bed empty.

His eyes snapped open and he flew bolt upright, chest heaving and eyes wide. A quick glance at the clock told him it was six fifteen in the morning. Instructing himself to breathe, he looked around for the source of his wake up call.

And found him standing wide-eyed at his side of the bed with his beloved blue blanket in hand.

"Samuel Dean," Dean whispered, leaning down to grab him under the arms and lift him onto the bed. "Why are you in here, baby? Where's mommy?"

"Dowstairs," Sammy replied solemnly, clutching tightly at the blanket he'd had since birth, a blue fuzzy quilt he called his blue bucky.

Dean held his half-awake son against his shoulder and swung his feet to the edge of the bed, stepping down and flinching when his bare skin came into contact with the icy floor. Balancing with his son in one arm, he pulled on a thick pair of sweat pants over his boxers and a pair of socks before heading downstairs to his wife.

He paused in the doorway, surprised. Sam and Paige were standing side-by-side at the stove, laughing and shoving each other playfully out of the way, bumping elbows as they worked in skillets over the burners.

"Well good morning, family," he greeted them dryly, rubbing his eyes. "Why are we up so dang early?"

Both of them jumped and spun around so quickly that Sam swung his elbow accidentally into Paige's face and she accidentally rammed her shoulder into his sternum. They yelped, cursed, and then looked sheepish as Sammy stared at them wide-eyed, Paige rubbing her cheek and Sam rubbing his chest.

"Nice," he commented with a grin. "Very graceful." He looked at his wife. "Coffee."

"In the pot," she replied, holding her arms out. Dean handed Sammy over, and she gently bumped noses with him. "Morning, baby boy."

Sammy stretched his hand out and touched it to Paige's cheek. Smiling, she turned her head and kissed his palm, making him giggle. She blew raspberries on his neck, making him screech in delight and kick his feet.

"Mommy!"

"Stop torturing our son," Dean suggested as he appeared by his wife's side, coffee cup in hand. "That's my job."

"No, daddy!" Sammy was laughing so hard he was shaking and squirming madly in Paige's arms. He laughed louder when Dean pulled his shirt up and blew raspberries on his round little stomach.

Sam watched all of this from his vantage point against the stove. He grinned, marveling at how much the little boy's love for life was helping him to heal, albeit slowly. Leaving them to their morning moment, he slipped into the hallway. He hadn't explored the house at all, or the yard, either. He supposed Dean did have a bit of a point. He hadn't been eating, but his appetite had returned at least. Still didn't mean he hadn't acted like an asshole.

The rest of the house was quiet. All the windows were open, letting in the fresh morning air. It was a time of the year Dean called "Indian Summer" – crisp mornings, warm afternoons, and cool evenings. It was the beautiful autumn weather right before winter started, and according to his brother, winters were brutal in this part of the state, temperatures sometimes dropping below negative twenty.

He stopped in the family room first. Or at least, he assumed it was the family room. There was a long couch and two loveseats arranged in front of a wooden shelf system, a seventy-two inch plasma in the middle, and on shelves all around it, the biggest collection of DVD movies he'd ever seen in his life. It was like a mini blockbuster. The room itself was painted a soft blue, and all around the perimeter in all shapes and sizes were photographs.

Assuming they were chronological, he started with the pictures of a much younger Brad Newbern. There was a wedding photo of him with a beautiful blonde woman, obviously Paige's mother. It was centered within photos of three little kids of varying ages, some posed, some candid: a dark haired little boy with blue eyes, and two little white-blonde girls, faces rounded with youth. Joy radiated out of the pictures.

As he moved along the wall, the three kids got older, and it was easier to recognize Paige. Her hair lost its baby curl, becoming straight and often braided, where her younger sisters remained gently curly. The picture that stood out the most looked recent enough, at a baseball game at a High School: the boy, now man, who he assumed was Christopher had grown to be a spitting image of Brad, and stood in front of his parents and between his sisters in dirty baseball uniform with one arm thrown over his sisters' shoulders. All three kids were sporting huge grins, the cause being the STATE CHAMPIONS plaque Paige was holding. As the children aged, though, Wendy disappeared from the photos. He wondered about that, as Brad still wore his wedding ring, but after Paige looked to be about sixteen her mother was nowhere to be seen.

The high school graduation pictures were next, and after that, two military photographs of Paige and Chris; he was shocked to find she had been in the Army along with her older brother. The patch on Christopher's shoulder read SPECIAL FORCES with AVIATION beneath that, and thanks to his military knowledge, he recognized the second patch as the insignia for 160th SOAR, one of the most elite (if not _the _most elite) units in the world. Her patch, on the other hand, read AVIATION and revealed her to be a pilot as well, only this time of a medevac. Company C, 3rd Battalion, 82nd Aviation Regiment, 82nd Combat Aviation Brigade – which meant in simpler terms that she flew UH-60s, more commonly known as Blackhawks. He whistled, impressed. There were fifteen other young men of all branches as well as the Newbern siblings. And each and every one of their name patches read Knox, Newbern, Brent, or Baraldi, with one young man named Shaw.

When he got to the wedding pictures, he couldn't help but exhale loudly. Dean looked so… happy. He wished he could have been there. Paige looked gorgeous, and the ceremony was done outside, during the summertime. The entire family didn't have to fake their happiness, it shone through the wonderfully captured photographs. After the wedding came some pictures Dean and Paige on a tropical island – their honeymoon, he assumed – and then a giant picture with at least fifty people in it, including Paige, who was pregnant, and Dean, who looked completely at ease. A family reunion, would be his guess. He found himself looking at pictures of Dean with the same group of eighteen or so men (many of them the soldiers from the pictures he'd seen), snapped at rodeos, barbecues, birthday parties. It was beyond strange to see his brother looking so normal.

There were also pictures of seven little kids he assumed were related to her somehow (probably cousins) as well as pictures of Jared and five other boys, and several others. Apparently, Paige had a rather large family. In addition were other people as well, probably family friends, as well as tons of pictures of sporting events (soccer, horseback riding, football, baseball, swimming, and track) featuring one or more of the Newbern children at varying heights and ages.

But the baby pictures were what blew him away. Sammy had been an adorable little baby, and there was a photo for just about every state of his life. He enjoyed watching his nephew's childhood develop through the photographs.

"Paige likes to take pictures."

Sam jumped and spun around. He hadn't heard his brother's approach, he'd been too busy looking. "Yeah," he said quickly, trying to regain his composure by clearing his throat. "She's good at it, too. Who did the wedding pictures?"

"Her best friend Ally."

"Oh." He stared awkwardly at the floor. "Sorry. I didn't mean to pry, it's just…I'm sorry I missed all of this."

"Yeah, me, too," Dean agreed, leaning against the doorframe. He looked relaxed in his long sleeved dark gray shirt and blue plaid sleeping pants. "And you aren't prying. They're on display in the living room."

"Where are the pictures of us?" he blurted before he could stop himself.

"Behind you."

Oh, right. Sam turned to the one wall he hadn't looked at yet. And there was the family photo of them when he had been a baby, blown up to three times its normal size. There were shots of him, dad, and Dean hunting when they'd been kids; of Dean and dad; of his high school graduation picture. There weren't many, but they were there.

"Sam, we need to talk," Dean said quietly, walking over to sit on the couch. He pointed at the loveseat next to him. "Sit down."

Sam did as his brother asked, crossing his arms.

"So," Dean began, rubbing a hand through his hair. "My wife thinks I'm being insensitive, so here I am. I hate talking about my feelings, but I really don't want to sleep on the couch." He sighed. "Look, Sam. Jessica's death _was not _your fault. There was nothing you could have done to stop it, and trust me, dwelling on it does nothing but destroy you. I've been harsh, yeah, but I'm not going to apologize. You can only dwell in grief for so long before it starts ripping you apart inside. Was me emo comment harsh? Hell, yeah. But you hadn't eaten for two days, and I didn't know what else to do. When I had these issues the only thing that snapped me out of it was tough love."

"Like with Christopher?"

The moment the words left his lips, Sam wished he could take it back. Dean looked pissed. But at the same time, it was high time he dished out his brother some of the pain Dean had caused him. Was it petty, yeah, but hell, that's what brothers do.

"Don't you ever talk about him," he said in a flat voice. "You don't know anything about him."

"I know he was in the Army," Sam countered. "I know he's Paige's older brother. I know that he was your best friend. And I also know that you went on a hunt with him, and he got hurt and died, and you blamed yourself. Just like me."

"Sam, Jessica was killed by something supernatural. Her death wasn't your fault. There wasn't a thing that you could have done." He looked away, staring at Chris' military photograph. "But Chris's death….it _was _my fault. He's dead because of me. And no matter what I do, I can't change that, because the only person to be pissed at is me. So do yourself a favor, and blame what's responsible. It's a hell of lot less painful for you that way."

"It was my fault, Dean! I didn't do anything to stop it!"

"There was nothing you could have done to stop it!"

"I could've told her the truth! I could've warned her!"

"Do you _honestly _think that would have changed anything, Sam?"

Sam's mouth opened and closed several times. "Fine. Think what you want. Tell me about Chris, then."

Dean smiled without humor. "Tell me about Jessica."

"I don't want to talk about Jessica. How many times do I have to tell you that?"

His brother stood and brushed off the legs of his pants. "As soon as you're ready to talk about Jessica, I'll talk about Chris. But until then, do me a favor, and don't even mention his name."

There was something in Dean's voice that compelled Sam to agree. He began to wonder just what exactly had happened to make Dean feel responsible for the death of his best friend. Despite his brother's words, though…he still blamed himself for Jessica.

Her face still haunted him every time he closed his eyes, with every beat of his heart. And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get the feeling to go away.

Because all he could think about was killing the thing that had taken her from him.

"Come on," Dean urged, pulling him off the couch. "Breakfast is ready. Let's go eat."

* * *

"You ready to go?"

Sam put his plate in the sink. "Yeah," he told his older brother. "My bag's already in the trunk."

Paige was waiting for them beside the Impala, Sammy on her hip. Klaus, Perseus, and Fritz were sitting beside her, the first time Sam had seen the dogs since the first night. They apparently spent most of their time in the fields with Ty, Chuck, and Jared, and slept in the barn at night to guard the livestock.

"So, Colorado, huh?" Paige asked as they walked up.

"Yeah. Blackwater Creek," Dean replied, putting his duffel bag in the trunk. "We'll be close. Only a few hours away at most."

Paige nodded and handed Sammy over to Dean. He held his son close and kissed the top of his honey-blonde head. he then handed him to Sam, who settled him against his shoulder and kissed his forehead affectionately.

Dean pulled his wife towards him and hugged her tight. He pulled away and looked down at her, one hand tangled in her hair. "Be safe," he requested. "And don't work too hard, for the baby's sake."

She smiled. "I'm pregnant, Dean, not dying," she pointed out.

"Still. Please."

"Fine. But you be careful, too. It's probably something nasty. I..." she cleared her throat. "I don't want to have to bring you home in a pine box, okay?"

"Okay," he agreed. He bent his head down and kissed her, no short kiss, but one that had Sam blushing in embarrassment and turning his vision skyward.

"Love you," Paige told him when they finally pulled apart. "Call me when you're headed home, and if you find John."

"Will do," Dean promised. He got into the driver's seat as Sam handed his nephew back to his mother and joined his brother in the car.

"Bye bye, daddy," Sammy said with a cheerful wave as Dean started the Impala.

"Bye, baby," Dean said with a wave and a smile. "See you soon."

And with that, the Impala sped off down the drive, Paige and Sammy waving until the taillights disappeared around the corner.

* * *

(Wendigo)

_Sam moved silently across the graveyard, one hand stuffed deep in his pocket and the other grasping a bouquet of flowers. His girlfriend's funeral had been the hardest thing in his entire life to live through, and now that everyone was gone, there were a few things he wanted to tell her before leaving._

_Holding back the tears that wanted to leak out of his eyes, he stopped in front of her grave, taking in the headstone and the little teddy bear along with her picture and a the cross hung over it. He didn't know what to say, or how you speak to someone you love who was dead._

"_I umm…" he laughed shortly, looking at the flowers, unsure how to begin. "Well, you always said roses were lame, so…I brought you, uh…" Looking down at her picture, he shook his head and had to look away to fight the tears. Sucking in a deep breath, he moved closer to it._

"_Jess…" He knelt beside her grave, the tears fogging his vision. "Oh, god. I should have protected you," he told her. "I should have told you the truth." He put the bouquet beside the teddy bear._

_A hand shot out of the soil to grab his wrist._

Sam snapped awake at once to the song "Hot Blooded" blasting on the. He looked away out the window, his expression bleak.

He missed the look Dean gave him. He'd been startled when Sam had jerked and snapped awake, nearly knocking his hand off the seat. Turning his eyes back to the road, Dean remained silent, his green eyes troubled, but giving Sam time to regain control of his emotions. He'd been walking on ice with him lately, especially with their agreement to disagree on Jess and Chris.

Sam pinched his nose between his thumb and forefinger, wishing that once, just once, he could _not _have a dream about Jessica's death. Or rather, a nightmare. They were never happy dreams. And the lack of a good nights sleep was starting to get to him.

Without looking at him, Dean asked, "You okay?"

"What? Yeah, I'm fine," Sam said quickly. The moment the words left his mouth, he knew that Dean would be able to tell he was lying. He'd said them too quickly. Sometimes he cursed his father for teaching both of them to be like Marines their entire childhood – weapons training, hand-to-hand combat, stealth, hand signals, and the ability to always be able to tell when someone was lying through their teeth. Not to mention all the hunting crap John had made them learn.

"Another nightmare?" Dean asked without looking at him. Sam looked away with a grimace, wishing that for once Dean would let something get by him. His reply was to clear his throat.

Dean shook his head and looked at the road again, his expression thoughtful. When he looked at Sam, he asked, "Want to drive for a while?"

Sam had to fight to keep his jaw from dropping. He gave his brother an incredulous stare. "Dean, your whole life, you never _once_ asked me that," he pointed out. Dean protected his car better than he did most people, if not all people.

With a shrug, Dean was immediately defensive. "Just though you might want to," he said flatly. "Never mind." By his face expression and the tightness around his eyes and mouth, he was worried about something, and it sure as hell wasn't their dad.

With a sigh, Sam figured out what was bothering his brother. "Look, man, I get it. You're worried about me. And thank you, but, I'm perfectly okay." He could almost hear the lie grating through his teeth.

Dean's mouth moved into a faint scowl, but he remained silent. He didn't believe his brother one little bit. He'd been really jacked up after Chris's death, but the pain magnitude was ten times worse for his brother, that much he knew. Because for Sam, losing Jess had been equivalent to him losing Paige, and just the thought made him

To break the heavy silence, Sam grabbed the roadmap off the dashboard and looked at it. "Alright. Where are we?"

"We are just outside of Grand Junction," Dean replied. His thoughts dwelled on his little brother, however, and it was difficult to pay attention to the road.

Sam sighed. "You know, maybe we shouldn't have left Stanford so soon," he said.

Dean could almost feel his expression hardening into a blank mask. He shut his eyes for a brief second before replying in calm tones, "Sam, we dug around for two days and came up with nothin'. If you want to find the thing that killed Jessica…"

"We've got to find dad first," Sam finished for him, studying the map for the hundredth time in six hours. He sighed and looked out the window. "I know, Dean."

"Dad disappearing, and this thing showing up again after twenty years…that's no coincidence. Dad will have answers. He'll know what to do. I just wish I knew how in the hell we were supposed to find him."

Dean tried to remain calm and collected, but every so often he had a vision of his wife on the ceiling in one of those terrible fires. Or his baby. Just the thought made him ready to throw up. Nothing would ever touch his family again.

Sam was still frowning at the map. "It's weird, man. These coordinates dad left us, this…Blackwater Ridge?"

"What about it?" Dean asked in a tense voice. The picture of Paige hadn't quite left his head yet.

"There's nothing there. Just…woods." He put the map down and frowned in thought. "Why's he sending us to the middle of nowhere?"

Dean didn't have an answer. He turned the Impala onto the road that led to Lost Creek, Colorado.

Both of them knew it was going to be a hell of a long week.

* * *

**Thunder Creek, Wyoming  
**November 8, 2005

Paige held Sammy on one hip and watched the dogs race out ahead of her, over the lawn and to the nearest paddock where Cloud, her dapple gray Dutch Warmblood mare, grazed peacefully, swishing her tail and flicking her ears when the dogs raced under her legs, licking her forehead eagerly, making her snort in annoyance and nudge them away from her.

"Horsey," Sammy crooned, holding out his arms as they neared the gate. Paige opened it and stepped through, walking up to pat her mare gently on the shoulder. Cloud whickered softly and nuzzled her cheek, making her laugh and kiss her velvety nose in turn.

Sammy giggled when she put him up on the mare's back. "Hold on tight, Sammy," she instructed, knowing her son would obey and not move too much – he'd already fallen off a Shetland once after disobeying her order to hold on, and she doubted he would do so again. She opened the gate and led the mare out, her dogs following closely, racing around each other playfully.

She couldn't help turning toward the drive every few minutes while she worked in the barn after turning Cloud loose in a closer paddock. Dean wasn't coming home for at least a week, but she couldn't help it. She hated being apart from him, even for a moment. It was going to be a very long week indeed.

Keeping a close eye on Sammy while he played with his trucks in the dirt, Paige did her work around the barn, glancing at the drive every now and then. She got into her mode, and didn't notice her cousin casually leaning against the barn entrance, watching her feeding the horses their lunchtime hay.

"Pregnant women should not work so hard," his voice said from the doorway. She turned and grinned at Jared, who held a giggling Sammy on his hip; her baby was wearing Jared's white cowboy hat and couldn't see because the brim fell over his eyes and blocked out his vision.

"And how would you propose a pregnant woman maintains her sanity, then?" she asked him with a smile. She noticed he was sweaty and had his heavy leather work gloves tucked into his jeans. He'd obviously been with Ty and the cattle all day and was probably looking for lunch.

Jared grinned crookedly, displaying the heartbreaking and breath stopping Knox family grin – dimple and all. Under his dark curls his silver eyes flashed, and Paige again wondered how in the hell her cousin was still single. "Knitting," he suggested.

Paige laughed. "Right. When hell freezes over." She wiped her hands on her work jeans and rested one hand on her still-flat belly, a tender smile creasing her lips while she looked the pair up and down. Sammy looked like he belonged on Jared's hip. It was a crying shame that he couldn't find that special someone – Jared would be a fantastic father. "How in the world are you still single?" she wondered aloud.

"It's a curse," Jared laughed, setting Sammy down and re-claiming his cowboy hat, brushing it against his leg before setting it back on his head. "The only thing women want from me is sex. You know me. I want more than that. Like what you and Dean have." He seated himself on an empty saddle stand and accepted the toys Sammy handed to him before Sammy grabbed them back to play in the dirt again.

With a sigh, Paige pulled over Ty's wooden stool and sat beside him. "You'll find it. Trust me. It might take a while, but that woman will come along. I promise you."

"You don't have to comfort me," Jared told her with a grin. "I accepted my fate long ago." He flourished his hat dramatically, convulsing and falling off his chair to sprawl on the floor, clutching his heart. "I shall die of a heart attack before a woman catches my eye," he claimed.

Paige snorted and tossed a bucket at him. "Stop being such a drama queen," she suggested.

Holding up one finger, he lifted his head high enough to grin at her and corrected, "King. Drama _King_."

She laughed. "Dorkweed."

He stuck his tongue out. "Squirt," he retaliated, grinning when she huffed in annoyance. He sat up and stared up at her from under the brim of his hat. "Missing him yet?"

"Of course. He'll be back by next Saturday, hopefully."

"Well, I can get Elliot to help me in the fields until then."

"He has his shifts at the police station. Don't worry about it. I can still do my work. I'm having a baby, not dying of cancer," Paige told him matter-of-factly. "Plus, Ally's still here with Levi. She's staying at the motel in town. She can watch Sammy in the mornings, she's a late riser anyway."

"Fine," Jared agreed. "But you better not fall off. Dean would kill me."

Shaking her head, Paige resumed her chores while Jared occupied her son. Then he had to leave again, riding off across the fields to join back up with Ty somewhere on their vast properties that joined together on the northern border of her land. It was cattle-babysitting day, and Jared had probably just wasted an hour of daylight with her and Sammy. She smiled at the thought. He really was sweet, and kind, especially for a twenty-six year old man with a handsome face and nice body.

"Come on, Sammy, let's go get washed up," she suggested. "Grilled cheese sound good?"

"Yeah!"

"Okay," she agreed, leaning down to give him a kiss on the end of his nose. "But first, you need a bath, stinky boy."

* * *

Three nights later, darkness fell, and Dean and Sam took high care going around their makeshift campsite carving protective symbols in the dirt with sticks. In two days, they'd managed to make it to Blackwater Ridge and to the local Ranger Office. There, they'd met Ranger Wilkinson, who had directed them to this Hailey girl's house, the sister of the brother who had gone missing. At Hailey's home, they'd seen a video Tommy had sent them. Later, back at the motel, Sam had slowed the image down to reveal a shadow outside the tent, their suspicious killer. They'd talked to a man who had survived an attack of something suspicious out in the woods, and had deemed the creature to be corporeal (killable).

They'd meant to go out into the woods alone, but had hooked up with a hunter named Roy, Hailey, and her kid brother Ben, all of whom were determined to 1) make their lives difficult (inadvertently, of course, but still, annoying as hell) and 2) find their big brother Tommy. They'd eventually reached the coordinates John had sent them (35, -111), and from there had found the campsite of Tommy and the other two campers they'd been with, which had been torn to bits and riddled with destroyed tents and gear smeared in blood. Never a good sign, that.

And then the damn thing had lured them away, stealing their packs and any link they'd previously had to civilization. After that, of course, they'd figured out it was a Wendigo – a creature who was once a man – and that was also incredibly fast, strong, smart, and could mimic and human voice. Freakin' lovely, in Dean's opinion.

So in conclusion of these peachy keen events, Dean pondered the change in events that had landed them in the middle of the woods, stranded, with two kids and an idiot who thought he could kill a Wendigo because he'd shot a few deer and bears. And now, they were stuck in the middle of the damn forest, freezing cold and surrounded by the Wendigo, in the middle of the night.

He so would have rather been at home in bed. He glanced up from his brooding when he heard Ben shift his position on the log, and the rustling of Sam's jeans. Because he needed to do _something_, he grabbed the journal and a stick and started carving into the dirt.

Hailey and Ben had built a fire, and Roy stood away from it, cradling his rifle like one would a small child. Sam and Dean exchanged glances frequently, not liking the situation one bit.

"So one more time, those are…?" Hailey asked curiously, watching Dean carve another symbol in the dirt with the pointed tip of a long stick.

"Anasazis symbols. For protection. The Wendigo can't pass over them."

Roy laughed from his position near the mangled tents. The brothers both gritted their teeth and considered for the millionth time punching him in the face.

"Nobody likes a skeptic, Roy," Dean commented without looking up. _Cocky bastard…should have let the damn thing eat _him_, and save us all the trouble of listening to him whine._ He saw Hailey and Ben move closer to each other on the log they occupied, eyes fixed on him. Sometimes, he really hated being the knowledgeable one in these situations. People looked to him for leadership, and quite frankly, it made him a bit uncomfortable.

He stood and looked into the forest. If it was out there, it was watching them. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing up and his gut was churning, so scratch that, he _knew _it was watching them. He spotted Sam sitting on a tree stump, staring gloomily into the trees, thoughts obviously directed someplace far away, and if he had to guess, it was about Jess. With a sigh he took a break from babysitting, trusting that Hailey and Ben would be safe for the next ten minutes, and plopped down next to Sam.

"You want to tell me what's going on in that freaky head of yours, Sammy?" Dean inquired, bringing his knees up and resting his elbows on them.

Sam's lips briefly quirked in a humorless smile. "Dean, I'm…"

"No, you are not fine. Believe me, I know. So stop trying to shove that bull crap down my throat. It's irritating. You're like a powder keg, man. It's not like you." And Dean was worried more than he would say. Sam hadn't even smiled in days, not counting the time with Sammy, because that kid could make the devil smile. "It's me that's supposed to play the belligerent one, remember? Not you."

Sam wouldn't look at him, but instead stared at the ground a few feet in front of his toes. He wrestled with his emotions to get the words past his throat. "Dad's not here. If you ask me, he never was here, and never will be here. He would have left us something, right?"

"Yeah, you're probably right," Dean sighed, shifting to get more comfortable.

"So why are we still here, Dean? Why don't we just pick up and leave? Why don't _you _just pick up and leave? I mean, you have Paige and Sammy now. Why are you even still doing this, when you obviously have an entire extended family that adores you?"

Dean sighed and moved to sit opposite his brother. With gentle hands he pulled their father's journal out of his pocket and held it up in front of them, one palm pressing to each cover. "This is why," he said simply, smiling when Sam frowned at him broodingly. "This book. This is dad's single, most valuable possession. Everything he knows about every evil thing is in here. And he's passed it on to us. I think he wants us to pick up where he left off, you know, saving people, hunting things. The family business."

Pressing hands to his temples, Sam exhaled and pinched his eyes shut. "That makes no sense. He would have told us. Why won't he tell us anything?"

"I don't know," Dean replied softly, the truth making his words heavy. "But the way I see it, he's given us a job, and I intend to do it. Exactly as he wants me to do it is how I will do it, too. If I'm the only one who can, so be it. Being in this job requires sacrifice, and relinquishing a few days here and there to save people, I'm willing to do."

"Dean, I have to find Jessica's killer. It's the only thing I can think about." Sam's eyes were the eyes of the haunted, burning with a hate so deep goose-bumps ran up Dean's arms. The anguish there made his heart ache, but there was nothing he could do to ease his brother's pain. In this, Sam was alone. Didn't change the fact he wanted to hug him until that hurt went away, like he'd used to do when Sam was little. He doubted his brother would accept that kind of comfort, though, not now.

"Sam we will find him, I promise. Listen to me now. You need to prepare yourself and let go of all that anger. It's going to kill you. This search could take a while. You've got to learn patience. You need to learn to just go with the flow."

"How do you and dad do it?"

"Well, them, for one," said Dean, nodding at Ben and Hailey. "I figure our family is so screwed up, we might be able to ease the suffering of others' while we do these things. Plus, in my opinion, every evil thing that I kill means the world is a safer place for my son."

A real smile creased Sam's lips this time. He marveled at his brother's strength, and had no idea how he could bear being away from Paige and Sammy so often and for so long. It must tear him apart inside to be away from his beautiful wife and precious child…but just as he always had he put on a brave face. For him, Sam realized. To help ease his suffering. A feeling of sorrow and slight envy passed over him when he realized that he would never know the joys of having a child like Sammy, and was envious that Dean had that in his life. He looked up when Dean's voice broke the silence again.

"I'll tell you what else helps. Killing as many evil sons of bitches as I _possibly_ can."

Sam grabbed his brothers' arm. "Dean, I want to ask you something," he said carefully. Dean frowned at him and started to sit down, but before he could, a voice rang through the forest.

"Help me!" it cried in broken, tearing tones – the tone of a terrified man. "Somebody help me!"

The brothers stood and moved to the center of the camp, shining the flashlights into the trees.

"Please!"

Dean shook his head at the nerve of the thing. "It's trying to draw us out," he said calmly, taking note of how tense Ben and Hailey looked. "Just stay cool, stay calm."

"Inside the magic circle?" Roy mocked.

He turned to shine the flashlight in the hunter's face.

"_Help me! Please help me!_"

The voice was more frantic than it had been, at least to Dean's ears. Everyone spun toward the new call, each time spinning to face the direction it came from, until he was dizzy and had to widen his stance to maintain his balance. He forced himself to stop spinning, focused on thoughts of Paige to calm his nerves, and listened hard for any rustling in the bushes. While inside the symbols, the thing could never touch him.

An unearthly roar rang through the trees. It echoed through the trees, and the man's yells escalated into pain-filled screams. "It's here." The comment was unnecessary, but Dean didn't care. Hailey and Ben winced, but Dean and Sam scanned the foliage, looking for the sucker, trying to spot it amongst the leaves. _It's so damn fast_, Dean swore, spinning at every tree that rattled and shook as the Wendigo tried to taunt them out of the safety of their camp.

Roy lifted his gun. "That is some grizzly," he breathed, firing off a shot. He fired another, and the roar turned into a screech of pain. "I think I got it!" he called triumphantly. He ran into the trees, over the symbols.

The goddamn idiot! "Roy, no!" Dean roared, but it was too late. "Roy!"

Hailey had grabbed a torch and watched him with wide eyes. "Don't move!" he ordered, chasing after the idiot with Sam hot on his heels. Judging by her face expression, she wasn't going anywhere. They followed the hunter's calls.

"It's over here! It's in the trees!"

Just as the words left his mouth, hands reached down to snap his neck like a twig. His body was yanked up among the branches. Dean and Sam skidded to a halt and cursed violently.

They were too late.

Morning dawned to find Sam curled against the same tree stump, their dad's journal resting on his lap. He stared off into space, upset that Roy had been killed before they had been able to save him. Exhaustion seeped into his limbs and his eyelids felt heavy, but he could not fall asleep. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd slept well, if at all.

"So tell me again, what is this thing?" Hailey asked Dean, following him around the campsite.

"A Wendigo."

"How do you change into one of those things?"

"All of them were once a man," Dean continued as if he'd never been interrupted and without breaking stride, "sometimes a pioneer, an Indian, a hunter…it all happens the same way. Guy finds himself alone, cut off from help or supplies, turns cannibal to stay alive, eating other members of his tribe or group."

Ben grimaced. "Like the Donner Party."

Dean made his thinking face. He had to admit, the kid was dead on as far as that went.

"Cultures all around the world believe that eating human flesh gives the person superhuman abilities – strength, speed, intelligence." Sam lifted his shoulders in a half-shrug.

"And if it's holding Tommy somewhere, how can he still be alive?" asked Hailey.

Exchanging a glance with Sam, Dean shrugged and looked back at her. "You're not going to like it," he said point blank.

"Tell me."

"More than anything the Wendigo knows how to survive long winters without food. When it's awake, it's always hungry. It will store its food and eat as it sees fit. If your brother is still alive, it's keeping him someplace dark, hidden, and safe. And probably underground. We've got to track it back there," Dean explained.

"So how do you kill it?" Hailey wondered.

"Well," Dean sighed. "Guns are useless, so are knives. Basically…we torch the sucker." He held up the materials and smirked.

Hailey stared at them. "How exactly do you get into this?" she wondered aloud.

"Oh, if I had a dollar for every time someone asked me that, I'd be rich," Dean mused bleakly.

Sam elbowed him in the side. "Dude, shut up. You _are _rich."

Dean grinned and rubbed his ribs. "Still. I'd be rich_er_." Hailey stared at the wedding ring on his finger when he tucked his gun into his jacket pocket.

"If you have a family, why are you out here? Don't you have a job or a life?"

"This _is_ my job and my life. It was my wife's, too, before we settled down and started our family."

"So you have kids, then?"

Dean nodded. "A son. He'll be two in May." He pulled out his lighter. "Now, I'd like to be home for Thanksgiving. Let's go find your brother, and then get the hell outa here."

"Couldn't have said it better myself," Sam mumbled, but followed his brother willingly into the darkening forest.

* * *

Dean had decided that of all the things in life, one of the things he hated the most was camping. He was bruised, tired, hungry, and his shoulders hurt like hell as he sat on the hood of the Impala and watched the ambulance cast flickering lights across the dark parking lot swarming with police, firemen, and rangers.

The Wendigo had taken him and Hailey hostage, knocked them out, and strung them up like a couple of hams. Sam and Ben had tracked him to the abandoned mine – he'd never been so thankful for his junkfood habit, as the M &Ms in his pocket had led them strait there – and they'd found Tommy (alive, his two friends not so lucky). Getting out had been a bitch, and the thing had nearly killed Sam and the three siblings, but he'd shot it with a flare gun, and then led everyone out of the forest and, thank god, civilization.

On the way, everyone had decided to tell a story of a massive eight hundred pound grizzly that had attacked them. And much to their relief, everyone so far was buying it. And on the bright side, no one would ever find it, so no one would ever wonder what had really happened out in those woods. The Park Service was already scrambling rangers to go looking for it.

Dean and Sam sat side-by-side on the trunk of the Impala, watching the paramedics load a bandaged Tommy into the back. Ben and Hailey walked over, arms over each other's shoulders, to smile at the pair.

"How will we ever thank you?" she asked. Ben grinned and shook both of their hands.

"Are you riding with your brother?" one of the EMTs asked.

"Yeah. Hold on just a minute." Leaning forward, Hailey kissed Dean on the cheek, making him blink in surprise. Smiling, the pair walked to the ambulance and climbed in beside their brother, watching the brothers disappear as the ambulance drove away.

Dean puckered his lips thoughtfully. "I hate camping," he said with feeling. He made a mental note to never take Sammy.

Sam laughed once without humor. "Yeah, me too," he agreed. A smile tugged at his lips.

They were silent for a long minute.

"Sam, you know we'll find dad, right?"

"Yeah," Sam sighed, turning to stare at his brother. He smiled, a real smile, for the first time in almost two weeks. "But until then…I'm driving."

Dean looked forward again, frowned in thought, and tossed the keys at him without looking. At least whatever was going on in that freak head of his was starting to turn normal again. He hoped beyond hope that this meant he was starting to recover from Jessica's death. He climbed into the passenger side of his car, suddenly regretting agreeing to let him drive.

Sam grinned and revved the engine just to get Dean's blood running before putting it in drive and pulling out of Lost Creek, Colorado, and onto the open road. Dean couldn't complain too much. His brother didn't drive any faster than he did, plus, he let him listen to AC/DC, so it wasn't all bad.

"Are we going home?" Sam asked, eyes on the road.

Eyebrows raised, Dean turned to look at him. "Home?" he repeated. "You said you don't have a home."

Shrugging uncomfortably, Sam swallowed his pride and glanced at him. He took a breath and forced the words past his lips. "You're right, Dean. I have to let go of all that anger. And with dad gone, you're the only family I've got, so home is wherever you are." He clamped his mouth shut and didn't see Dean's loving smile.

Dean was practically humming with excitement. He was going to get to see Sammy again, and it had only been five, almost six, days. It was nice to see his geek brother opening up after a few weeks, though the underlying pain of losing Jessica was still there. It was a start, at least. Nodding, Dean pulled out his phone. "Good. I hate being away from Paige and Sammy for too long."

"Sure it's not just to share her bed?" Sam teased.

Dean shook his head before frowning, then smirking. "Yeah, well, that too," he admitted grudgingly. "Did I mention she's pregnant again?" he added, dialing the number.

Sam burst out laughing. "Can't you keep your pants on, Dean? What is she, a broodmare? Don't tell her I said that. And I knew that already. Congratulations."

"Thanks," Dean said sarcastically, shrugging it off. He was looking forward to a good night's sleep.

Shaking his head at his brother's arrogance, Dean grinned when the Impala accelerated, carrying them faster down the road and towards home.


	11. Chapter 11

Author's Note: Lots of my other peeps in the chapter as well as Sam and Dean…Ally's back and so is Levi. Lots of fluff, and a few bombs being dropped here and there. (In advance – samgirl19, if you fall off your chair when reading, I apologize!)

Sorry for the delay in this – I've been really busy with school and such all week and I watched the Olympics until ten (we got the gold in bobsled! Woot!), but since it's been pouring at my house all day, I finally had time to finish this. Anyway, enjoy!

Disclaimer: All I own is my OCs, people…

* * *

Ally Baraldi sighed and tried not to scream. All she wanted was a breakfast burrito. Why did these people have to make it so frigging hard to have a frigging burrito?

"No, I don't want hot sauce," she sighed in annoyance to the boy beside their table. What was it with people from Wyoming, anyhow? Why did they have to have such annoying obsessions with peanut butter (they put it on every frigging breakfast food) and hot sauce (which they put on just about everything else). It was enough to drive anyone even half-sane completely bonkers.

"So you'll want that with no hot sauce, ma'am?" he repeated.

She growled, about ready to rip the guy's head off.

Paige appeared, returning from her bathroom trip with Sammy, and sat beside her, putting Sammy in the highchair next to Levi. "Hey, Cody," she greeted the boy. The teenager grinned.

"Hey, Paige. Are you and Dean coming to church on Sunday?"

"You know Jane will have my head on a platter if I don't show up on time."

"My mom has her moments."

From a table across the room, their town preacher, Jane Morrison, looked over. "I heard that!"

Cody grinned and waved. "Love you, mom!"

The diner burst into laughter, cowboys at the counter waving their hats at the kid.

"This is a weird town," Ally grumbled, scooping up her son and settling him in her lap before he could attack the glasses of water Cody had given them and spill them all over the table.

"What do you say, Cody? You done picking on the out-of-towner?" Paige asked.

Cody grinned and nodded. "Paige, you want the usual: breakfast omelet for you, two of the supreme waffle specials for Dean and his brother, the kids portion of the hearty breakfast for little Sammy, a glass of milk, and three orange juices." He smiled and then looked at Ally, who was still holding her son on her lap, the little boy now contentedly gnawing on a piece of ice. "And you, ma'am, want a breakfast burrito with no hot sauce and the kids portion of the hearty breakfast for that little guy, with two milks. Am I right?"

Ally gaped at him. "You were repeating me just to annoy me?" she demanded.

"Yes, ma'am. Paige told us you've got a short temper and I was just experimenting," Cody said with a grin, tucking his pad into his back pants pocket. "Be right back with your food. Want me to put the waffle orders on hold until Dean gets here?"

"He should be here any minute now, Cody, but thank you."

"Alright, ma'am," he grinned, giving her a one-fingered salute and winking at Ally.

Incredulous and at a loss for words, Ally looked around the diner searching for actual, normal people. No luck. Except for Sammy, who was in a high chair, scribbling with the crayons the owner of the local diner always provided for kids.

"Why do you live here again?" Ally asked her friend, settling Levi back in his high chair.

"I like it here," Paige replied simply, smiling when the owner of the diner, Jay Rawlings, winked at her from behind the counter. He'd been one of her first friends at church since she'd moved to Thunder Creek with her family in middle school.

"Do you seriously know everyone?" Ally asked curiously as she watched Paige turning around in her chair to talk to the people seated at the tables around them. Kids laughed and adults talked, the smell of the cooking food was great, and it was a very homey atmosphere. It reminded her of that guy's diner from that show _Gilmore Girls_.

A tall – very tall – cowboy walked in and pulled off his hat. "Mornin' Jay," he called over the clamor of voices, laughing, soft country music, and clanking of silverware on plates.

"Mornin', Jared," Jay called back, and the diner echoed him, people smiling at the newcomer. It was so strange to be in a place where everyone literally knew everyone, right down to the names of each others' horses and dogs, and even more impressive, the ability to know who owned which one.

Jared walked over and sat down at the one of the empty chairs set at their table. Ally looked him up and down with a slightly arched eyebrow – she had for one yet to find a man with a bad temper or even semi-bad looks in this town – and admired just how _broad_ the man's shoulders were. She guessed him to be about six foot five, about the same height as..._don't think his name, he left you, remember?_ She banished the thought at once.

The cowboy in question, judging by the whispering women at the table behind Ally, was the very rich heir to a cattle ranch known as Last Trail Ranch. He was twenty-six, handsome, friendly, and had the most gorgeous blue-gray-silvery eyes Ally had ever seen. His dark hair was plastered to his forehead slightly from sweat and had the look of hat hair, but he was still by far the most gorgeous man in the diner.

And the single women agreed with her. He was obviously the most sought-after man in town, if not for his money, then for his good looks and clearly fantastic body. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, and she could see the bulge of his muscles every time he moved his arms.

Jared leaned over to kiss Paige's cheek. "Good morning, sweetheart," he greeted her with a grin. He unbuckled Sammy from his high chair and lifted him to his lap. "Hey, buddy!" he greeted him, kissing his cheeks noisily.

"Jared!" Sammy squealed in delight, giggling when Jared tickled him. In his baby voice, the name came out as 'Jahwed', and was so cute every woman in the place smiled at him.

"What are you drawing, kid?" Jared asked, pulling the paper in front of him. Sammy stood on his thighs, braced against his shoulder, and held securely there by the cowboy's arm, bare to the elbow.

"Horsey," Sammy cooed, pointing at a brown blob with little squiggles.

"Very cool, my little Michelangelo. An artist, I like that. Chicks will dig you." He winked at Paige's frown. "What's this?" He pointed at a red blob.

"Ercis."

"Perseus?" Jared laughed. He tapped the yellow blob. "I'm guessing this is Klaus?"

"Yeah," Sammy giggled, clapping his hands. Jared then noticed the sticky syrup-type substance on his chubby little fingers. Paige grabbed a wipe, but he just wet a napkin in the water and scrubbed it away, uncaring that he was dripping water on his pants.

"So how've you been, dearest cousin?" Jared asked.

Ally was thrown off guard but Paige seemed not to notice. _This _was Jared? Good god, the last time she'd seen him they'd been five, and he'd been the scrawniest, dorkiest looking kid she'd ever seen. Now, not so much. He was...sexy, damn it.

"What, you mean since yesterday, when you stole half of my fresh baked cookies?" Paige teased, reaching over to wipe water off the table. He grinned impishly, and she laughed. "I'm fine, Jare. I'm starting to get cravings a little bit. As for the herd, Ty and Chuck drove the cattle over Blackthorn Ridge yesterday. We almost lost a calf in the river, it's higher than it was last year. How did your drive go?"

"Peachy," Jared sighed with a grimace. "Elliot, Mike, and I gave up halfway through. The damn cows won't cross this one section of the trail, for some reason. The way they act it's almost like they're possessed or something. But then, it was four in the morning, so you know. No guarantees they'll cooperate with you."

"Hmm," Paige said thoughtfully.

"This little guy sure has grown," Jared commented, giving Sammy a small squeeze and smoothly preventing the one and a half year old from tipping the glass of water over.

"You saw him yesterday!" Paige laughed, playfully punching his shoulder.

"I know," he replied, winking. He seemed to just then notice Ally. "Forgive me, ma'am, I'm being terribly rude. New face in town?" he inquired, all formal now.

Ally glared at him and stuck out her hand. "Ally Baraldi."

"I think we may have met a long time ago, but welcome to Thunder Creek. Pleased to meet you again, ma'am. Jared Knox." He took her offered hand and shook it cordially, and she noticed briefly that his hand was large, warm, and callused. So he was a working man; didn't surprise her, he was in Paige's family, after all. And oh, lordy, he was _hot_.

"That's your grandmother's maiden name!" Ally accused her friend, spinning to face her.

Paige sighed. "He's my cousin. Did you think I was kidding?" at Jared's questioning frown, she patted his arm and gently set his Stetson back on his head. "It's almost ten thirty; you should probably be getting back to work. I'll tell Dean you said hi. Will I see you at the charity auction tomorrow?"

Jared nodded. "Will Dean be there?"

"Maybe. Not sure yet. He might have a…uh, job." She held out her hands for her son and kissed Jared on the cheek before he left. "See ya, coz."

The tall man left, and Jay brought them their breakfast, taking the seat that Jared had just abandoned. He was a man in his mid-thirties with a wife and three daughters, and ran the diner Jay's. Big wonder where the name came from.

Jay took Sammy from Paige and she sighed, digging into her lunch. The calm man set the baby back in his high chair and put the plate of kid-sized portions on his tray. "How's it going, kid?" he asked, addressing Paige.

"You're only like ten years older than me, Jay," Paige sighed. "You don't have to call me kid. Jay, this is my friend Ally. Ally, this is Jay. Oh, and her son Levi. They're going to be staying with us - or at least in town - for a while."

The quiet man nodded, flicking his towel over his shoulder. "You finish selling the tickets for the charity auction yet?" he asked.

"Not yet. Nancy and I are going to meet up together and find a way to put a booth in the Thanksgiving parade. That way we'll have them all sold out."

When Ally asked, Paige explained that Nancy was the wife of her good friend Evan Tracy, and had a son named Harvey about the same age as Sammy and Levi. She then went on to point out everyone else out in the diner and explain who was related to who, but Ally got so confused she got lost after the first few introductions.

"How the heck do you memorize all their names?" she wondered.

Paige shrugged. "Church, town meetings, town functions, parades…you learn who's who after a while. For example, I know someone you won't be able to forget. You see that little Asian boy, there?"

Ally looked. The kid was small, with glasses and the Japanese face she recognized so well. "Yeah? Why?"

"That's Andrew Kim. He's the son of the only Asians in town, not to be racist. They run the little Mexican Restaurant down the street."

In her mind, Ally thought of what the little 'main street' looked like, lined with its shops and in the middle the town square, the little mini park with the fountains and trees. They were on one of the corners. "So it's a Mexican restaurant run by Asian people?"

"Bingo. That one still cracks Dean up." She checked her watch. "We should wait before eating. Sam and Dean will be here in about a minute."

Ally's heart started to race. "Paige…"

"It will be fine, Ally," Paige promised, patting her hand. "Just…act normal."

"If you say so," she sighed, crossing her arms and dreading the pending encounter.

* * *

"Sam!"

Thudding steps echoed down the hall, and Sam rolled over in reaction, pulling the pillow over his head, pressing his arms down on top of it to block out any possible light.

"Sammy!" that voice bellowed again.

He groaned, knowing what was coming next. The door flew open, bouncing off the wall with a resounding _boom_. With an exasperated huff, the annoying member of the human race who also happened to be his cocky-as-hell older brother stalked across the room and threw the blinds open, bathing everything in bright, warm light. Not that Sam could tell, as his head was currently tightly sealed beneath his pillow, slightly suffocating with his face pressed against the sheets.

"Dude, it's like ten o'clock," Dean informed him, yanking the covers off before Sam could grab them. He grunted in annoyance as the cold air brushed his bare back, making him shiver slightly.

"So what?" Sam grumbled, voice muffled by the pillow. "That's early."

"Yeah, well, if you want to eat, Princess, I suggest you drag your lazy ass outta bed."

"Huh?" Sam mumbled, lifting his head and cursing as the light stabbed his eyes. He rubbed his knuckles into them and rolled away from the light.

Dean was standing beside his bed, already dressed in his usual jeans, biker boots, collared shirt, and leather jacket. "Sam," he elaborated with a frown, "Jay's stops serving breakfast at eleven thirty, and I'm going to leave your ass if you aren't ready to go in twenty minutes. I want waffles after that whole forest fiasco and almost being eaten and all, and he makes the best damn waffles in the state."

"Better than Eggo?"

"Dude, _way_ better."

"Alright, alright," Sam sighed, sitting up and rubbing his face. "I'm up." He smiled slightly. "Jerk."

Dean grinned. "Bitch," he replied before winking and heading back the way he'd came. "Hurry up, I'm hungry!" he called over his shoulder.

Sam grinned despite himself, comfortable in their brotherly bickering. Yawning widely, he grabbed a towel from the cupboard in the bathroom and turned the shower on. He took a military shower, and was in and out in no time, scrubbing his hair dry and brushing his teeth. Taking the stairs two at a time, he tripped on the last step and went stumbling off-balance into the kitchen, arms waving wildly in helicopter pattern to keep himself upright.

His older brother looked up from his newspaper to watch the performance, forcing himself not to snort and pretend he hadn't seen anything. "That was fast," he commented, grabbing his keys and standing to put his coffee mug in the sink. "Ready to eat?"

"Yeah," Sam replied a trifle breathlessly, tugging his jacket on. "Where's Paige?"

"She and Sammy are already at Jay's. You have to get seats early, the place is packed by now. They left about an hour ago. She was running errands with a friend visiting from out of town."

"That Ally girl?"

"Yeah," Dean verified as they headed out into the garage. "She's got a sixteen-month-old son named Levi who's Paige's godson. She's visiting from California."

Something vague yet familiar stirred in Sam's gut at the mention of California. "Visiting from where?" he inquired as he dropped into the passenger seat and closed the door with a squeak of metal.

"Stanford," Dean answered, starting the car and pulling out of the garage. "Specifically Law. She's studying to become a DA or something like that."

"Oh," he whispered, looking out the window. It was possible they were the same Ally, but there were tons of girls named Ally who went to Stanford to study law. Right? He himself wasn't quite sure. But what was the chance he'd run into her here, after two years of not hearing a word?

The Impala pulled off down the drive, turning left onto the main road, leaving the RED TRAIL RANCH sign swaying gently in the breeze behind them.

"Why do you go into town to eat?" Sam blurted as the thought occurred to him.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Man, you Californians are annoying. You don't know anything about weather," he joked sarcastically, grinning when Sam whacked him half-heartedly on the shoulder. "It's Wyoming, Sam. Come end of November, this nice weather is gonna go _poof_. Then it'll be snow, raging winds, blizzards, and subfreezing temperatures. Everyone in this county comes into town to shop and to socialize. It gets lonely out there on that prairie alone all the time, like we are for four months or so, until the snow starts to semi-melt. So, until winter strikes and driving is difficult, we head to town to spend time together. The parks are especially busy this time of year, and so are the diner's and coffee shops."

"Well, I didn't know," Sam muttered sullenly.

"Now you do." Dean grinned at the WELCOME TO THUNDER CREEK, WYOMING sign as they passed. Someone had written BOOB in big red letters off to the side. Man, Elliot (the town Sherriff and also Paige's cousin, Jared's older brother) was going to go into orbit. He couldn't wait to watch the performance.

"There's something…weird about this town," Sam realized, watching it grow nearer. He hadn't paid much attention the time before. But everywhere he looked, he could see bits and pieces of hunting memorabilia. In discreet places were carved pentagrams, all over the place.

"Every door and window is lined with a strip of solid iron and a strip of rock salt," Dean explained, glancing over at his brother's gawking expression.

Sam watched a family walk down the street, a tall man in his mid-thirties with a pretty redhead on his arm and three little kids walking around them, tugging at their clothes every once and a while but mostly just running around like most kids do. The man was dressed typical cowboy style, minus the big heavy chaps, and also had a Hollister strapped to his belt on his right hip, the bottom snapping around his thigh with a plastic clip. Sticking out of that Hollister was the end of a sawed-off shotgun. He noticed with shock that most people on the streets, male of female, had variations of the same thing, some with shotguns, others with gigantic knives, and even some with both. And no one seemed alarmed.

"The hell?" he said aloud, shocked.

"Did nobody tell you, then?" Dean wondered aloud, amusement plain on his face.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Nobody tells me anything, man," he pointed out.

"This is a hunting town."

"Meaning what, exactly? Are deer on the Endangered Species List around here or something?" He glanced around as if expecting to see signs proclaiming such.

Dean grinned at the joke and parked the Impala in an empty space in front of Jay's Diner. "It means, Sammy, that everyone in this town is a hunter like we are."

Sam stared as his brother slammed the door, and scrambled after him, doing the same. "Shh! Dude, keep your voice down! What do you mean, they're all hunters?" he hissed, grabbing his brother's jacket to keep him from walking off, eyeing people on the street warily.

"Exactly as I said. Every person who lives in this town is either a hunter, married to a hunter, has some other familial relation to a hunter, or is the kid of a hunter." Dean shrugged Sam's hand off and fixed his collar. "Always been like that. Why do you think dad came here in the first place?"

Mouth agape, he watched his brother walk straight into Jay's, and with an annoyed huff, hastened to follow him towards the "best waffles in the state". The diner itself was painted cheerful colors, and had all sorts of posters and picture frames (of kid's sports teams, rodeo riders, town parades, etc.) on the walls that spoke of a closely knit community. There were people everywhere, seated at both booths and tables, chatting and eating together, families and singles alike.

"Dude," Dean called, waving him over.

Sam started towards the table, but as soon as he took the time to look at who was sitting there, he stopped dead in his tracks. Paige and Sammy he was used to seeing, sure, and there was a middle-aged man with a towel over his shoulder who excused himself and headed off to wait tables. It was the _second _woman he stared at, stunned, as she stared back.

"A-Ally?" he stuttered, shocked.

"Sam?"

"Whoa, I need to sit down." He did just that, staring across the table at her, while Dean and Paige looked between her and Sam and tried to figure out what was going on.

"You two know each other?" Paige inquired, both of her eyebrows raised.

"Yeah, we met about two and a half years ago," Ally replied absently. "A summer law program at Yale. We were debate partners, and dated for the summer. At the end of the program we went our separate ways."

"It's good to see you," Sam said softly, reaching across the table to gently touch her hand.

Ally pulled her hand back and cleared her throat. "I'm sorry, Sam…about Jess."

"Yeah, me too."

"When did you meet her?"

"About four months, uh…after."

"Oh." Ally cleared her throat again, looking instead at Dean. "Hey," she greeted him. "Haven't seen you in, what, a year?"

"About, yeah," Dean agreed, slightly surprised when she hugged him. He rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment. "So, uh, how long are you in town?"

"Another few days," she answered. "I have to be back at Stanford by the middle of next week; I have a paper due."

Sam's eyes were drawn to a gurgling laugh that wasn't Little Sammy's. He turned, and his eyes fell upon a dark-haired little boy with round cheeks, a wide smile, and sparkling brown eyes. He found himself smiling at the mop of brown hair atop his head.

Dean picked the boy up and held him above his head. "Levi's gotten _big_," he commented, grinning at Ally. "Almost as big as Little Sammy. What is he, a month younger? Right?"

"Uh-huh," Ally agreed, smiling at her baby. "Sixteen months. He'll be two on June twenty-fifth."

Sam's eyes widened, doing the math in his head. "Ally," he whispered, shocked.

"He's not, Sam. And I don't want to talk about it," Ally said levelly, taking her son and wiping his mouth. All Sam could do was stare.

"Well, this is awkward," Dean grumbled, picking up his fork. "Dig in, Sam." He did just that, tearing into his waffles with the gusto of a starving man.

Sam looked down to find a plate of tasty looking waffles, eggs, bacon, sausage, toast, and a glass of orange juice. Taking his brother's advice to heart, he picked up his fork, and took a bite. They were delicious melt-in-your-mouth type waffles. He was surprised to found himself hungry – scratch that, ravenous – and dug in with the same gusto his brother was displaying.

Silence descended on the table as Ally and Sam ate mechanically while staring unblinkingly at each other, like they were afraid if they did blink, the object of their scrutiny would disappear forever. Dean focused on his plate, pondering just how much he _hated _awkward silences. Under the table, he nudged his wife's knee playfully, and she grabbed his knee, sending him his favorite _knock that off right now or else _look. He nudged her again, and she sent him a sharp glare, her eyes narrowed. He smiled and then almost jumped off his chair when she grabbed a _bit _higher than he'd been expecting, his breath leaving him in a _whoosh_. His eyes popped wide as he stared at her in shock, and all she did was grin, wink, and go back to her breakfast.

He suppressed a groan. The damn woman was going to be the death of him.

He cleared his throat slightly, and she let go. And then, before she had a chance to pull her hand away, he wedged it between his thigh and the chair, pressing down to keep it pinned. She tugged discreetly several times before giving up and stomping on his foot. They then engaged in a glaring match.

"Earth to Dean," a voice said loudly in his ear.

Dean snapped to full awareness, breaking eye contact with his wife but aware enough to keep her hand pinned in its current position. He glanced up at the speaker to find Jay shaking his head and grinning at them. "Oh, uh, hey Jay," he said, recovering quickly. "How's it goin'?"

"Fine," Jay replied with a smirk, holding out a stack of newspapers. "This is for after. Figure you boys might find a few cases in there."

He accepted the stack and set it on the empty chair at the head of the table. "Thanks," he said, meaning it.

"Don't mention it," the older man replied with a wink. "I'll let you two lovebirds get back to it."

Paige hid a snort behind her hand and Dean stared down at his plate, face going bright red as he forced himself not to laugh. "So," she said, choking on what sounded suspiciously like a giggle, "you gonna release my hand now, Macho Man?"

"Are you _giggling_?" he inquired curiously, propping his elbow on the table and his chin on his fist. He grinned when her amusement faded and she was glaring at him – he loved getting a rise out of her, it never ceased to amuse him.

"Army aviators don't giggle," she countered smoothly, giving her hand another tug.

"Sounded like a giggle to me."

"Dean," she warned, eyes flashing.

"Macho Man? Really? Cuz, personally, I always thought I deserved a more, I dunno, awesome nickname than _Macho Man_."

She laughed despite herself. "Alright, you win. _This_ round. Now please, let go."

With a sigh, he did as she asked, but not before grabbing her hand and lifting it to his lips to kiss her palm.

She rolled her eyes, and he smiled gently and really released her this time, chuckling when she quickly tucked her hand under her own thigh to keep him from grabbing it again.

"So…he hands out newspapers?" Sam asked suddenly, breaking his ten-minute silence.

"What?" Dean said irritably, turning to him. His brother had the stack of newspapers beside his now scraped clean plate and was sifting through them.

"Dude, these are from like…every state except for Hawaii," said Sam, eyes wide.

"Yeah. Jay subscribes to all of them so hunters can look for cases. We pay him five bucks a month to help him pay for all of it."

"Start reading, then," Sam suggested, handing him half the pile.

Dean sifted through them, discarding Ohio, Oklahoma, Maine, Vermont, New Hampshire, Alaska, and most of the eastern seaboard. When Sam stared at him, he explained, "Least amount of supernatural activity. I check them last. And I don't go to Alaska, I give 'em to a hunter named Bruce Claybourne. That's his area of expertise. And East Coast is too far right now, so that's out, too."

"How do you know?"

"Check the obits, Sammy. Always check the obits," he answered absently, biting off a piece of toast as he did so. A woman walked up and stopped beside his table, and both Sam and Ally stared at her. She was tall, blonde, leggy, and was bending over to refill Dean's coffee cup.

"Anything else I can help y'all with?" she asked politely.

"No, thanks, Sandra," Dean replied with a smile. "Tell your dad I'll drop the Alaska paper by on my way home."

"Will do," she replied with a smile, heading off to speak to the table two down from theirs.

"You know, Sam," he said gently, "you _are _allowed to have a little fun every now and then. That girl is fun."

"Oho, like you would know," Paige said, rolling her eyes.

"Hey, I'm just lookin' out for my dork brother here, okay? Getting laid would severely improve his mood, I'm thinking."

Sam rolled his eyes and sipped his orange juice before getting up and heading for the bathroom.

Dean frowned as he skimmed through the obits for Wisconsin, looking for anything out of the ordinary. He found on that was a possible, circling it several times in his pen. _Carlton, Sophie._

His brother came back, and he sighed, worried about his brother's apparent lack of interest in members of the opposite sex. Letting it go, he tossed the newspaper so it landed in front of Sam. "Take a look," he suggested. "Lake Manitoc, Wisconsin. Last week Sophie Carlton, eighteen, walks into the lake, doesn't walk out. Authorities drag the water – nothing. She's the third Lake Manitoc drowning this year. None of the other bodies were found, either. They had the funeral two days ago."

"Funeral?"

"Yeah, it's weird. They buried an empty coffin, for closure, or whatever."

"Closure?" Sam repeated, eyes narrowing. "What _closure_? People don't just _disappear, _Dean, other people just stop looking for them."

Dean's expression hardened and he shifted to face his brother, a challenge in his eyes. Paige and Ally paused in their breakfast to exchange worried glances, thankful that the diner was loud and no one could hear what they were saying.

"Is there something you want to say?" he said, determinedly not rising to Sam's bait and keeping his temper in check.

"The trail for dad. It's getting colder _every day._"

"Exactly," Dean snapped, resisting the urge to throw his hands up. "So what are we supposed to do?"

"I don't know, something," Sam snapped back. "Anything!"

"You know what? I'm sick of this attitude. You don't think I want to find dad as much as you do?"

"Yeah, I know you do, it's just–"

"I'm the one who's been in contact with him every single day for the past two years," Dean exploded, managing to keep his voice down. "While you were off at college going to pep rallies. We will _find _dad, but until then, we're going to kill everything bad between here and there. Okay?"

Sam clenched his jaw and didn't answer.

"You aren't the only person with problems, Sam. So stop trying to make everyone around you as angry and miserable as you are. And don't you dare get pissy with me, you know it's true."

He made the expression fondly known as "bitchface" to his family, but remained silent, grinding his teeth together in frustration.

"Well," Dean said, turning to his wife. "Looks like we're going to Lake Manitoc."

"Goody, Wisconsin," Paige said with a smile. "How far?"

* * *

Dean rolled his shoulders, rubbing his eyes as he did so. Man, he hated cases where some poor shmook's kids died. It had been depressing before, but now that he had his own kid, soon to be kids, it just made it that much worse. He could relate completely to Bill Carlton and the pain he was feeling. He didn't even want to think about anything happening to his son.

"Dude, you okay?"

"What?" he said suddenly, glancing at Sam. "Yeah, fine. Why?"

"I dunno, you just got all…pale. It was weird."

"Pondering losing children does that to you, Sammy. Wouldn't expect you to understand, cuz you don't have any."

Sam rolled his eyes and went over everything they knew so far in his head. Sophie Carlton had been a varsity swimmer, but had drowned in the lake, leaving her father Bill and brother Will heartbroken. He felt for the poor kid. There had been no shadows or strange movements noticed by anyone, which meant they could rule out a corporeal creature/monster. They were now headed to the local Sherriff's office to milk more information out of the locals, and were posing as Federal Wildlife Service Agents Ford and Hamell.

"Come on," Dean sighed, leading him into the building.

It took a while, but eventually, the Sherriff let them behind the desk and led him to his office. He gave the confirmation they needed – there was nothing carnivorous in the lake, they'd dragged the entire thing, even done sonar sweeps just to be sure, and they'd come up with nada. And, on top of that, the dam was in disrepair so the lake was drying up.

Dean leaned back in his chair and sighed. So, basically, they had zippo to go on. Which was annoying. But he'd learned long ago to make do with what they had, and to not complain about it.

A woman entered, slightly startled to see them with the Sheriff. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said suddenly, moving to back away. "I can come back later." Both brothers looked at her, and both found her to be pretty, with curly dark hair and warm brown eyes.

Both men stood, Dean holding his hand out as she was announced as the Sheriff's daughter. He introduced himself with a half-smile.

"Andrea Barr," she replied in a friendly tone, her immediate assumption of him being _ladies man,_ big time. But she glanced down at the hand she was shaking and saw a faint tanline on his left ring finger. She smiled again, glancing at her father over his shoulder when he said they were from the wildlife service.

"About the lake," Jake elaborated hesitantly.

"Oh," she said weakly, as a smaller figure stepped around her.

"Oh, hey there," Dean said to the kid, who was tall and had reddish hair. "What's your name?"

In response, the kid turned and fled, Andrea hurrying after him. Dean's brow creased in confusion. Had he said something wrong? No way, all he'd done was ask his name. Which meant there was something wrong with the kid.

"His name's Lucas," Jake explained quietly.

"Is…he okay?" Sam asked, finally deciding to pipe up.

"He's been through a lot. We all have."

Dean's heart went out to the kid as he watched him taking crayons offered to him by his mother. He was transported back twenty-two years, and saw himself in the boy, his silence taking on a whole new meaning. Before he had a chance to really think about it, though, Jake was ushering them out. He did managed to talk her into walking them to a decently priced motel, though.

He paced along silently after her for a time, aware of Sam's hulking mass somewhere behind him. "So, cute kid," he said pleasantly.

"Thanks," she replied, not looking at him.

"Kids are the best, huh?" he inquired. He honestly had no idea why he had insisted on her coming along….it had to do with that little boy, though. That's all he knew for sure. And then they were standing in front of the motel.

"Like I said. So sad that you can't even cruise your way to a decent pickup line," she teased, before walking off.

Sam grinned at his brother's failure to "pick her up". "'Kids are the best'?" he quoted.

"I love kids," Dean said, rolling his eyes.

"Name three kids that you even _know_."

"Well, there's Sammy, of course, and Levi. And JB, Chase, Ella, Mikey, Luis, Ty, Brock, Andrew, Christian, Bryce, Logan, Davey, Alexander, Jackson, TJ, Tyler, the Miller kids…"

"Okay, I get the picture," Sam huffed, rubbing his eyes. He had no idea his brother actually _knew _that many kids.

"Dude, seriously?" he said in disbelief as if reading his mind, holding up his left hand. "_Married with son_, remember? Of course I know kids, dumb ass." He was laughing as he entered the building.

* * *

The motel room was decent enough. Dean washed up while Sam pulled out his laptop and started searching for previous victims, coming up with six spread out over earlier years. And there had obviously been no survivors. Or at least, they thought that until they found the article on Christopher Barr, Andrea's husband. Lucas had witnessed his father drowning, and hadn't been rescued off his wooden plank for two hours.

"Looks like we have an eyewitness after all," Dean said softly. He understood the kid perfectly. After seeing something like that kill his dad? Man, no wonder he was so freaked out…

It took a while, but they found the park that Andrea had mentioned earlier. And when they did, they found Andrea sitting alone on the bench. Dean walked off to say hi to Lucas while Sam sat down next to her and watched them.

"How's it goin'?" Dean greeted Lucas. The kid didn't even look at him, not even after he mentioned the toy soldiers set off to the side. "So, crayons is more your thing. That's cool. Chicks dig artists. Mind if I sit and draw with you for a while?"

Taking the boy's silence a as a yes, he grabbed a crayon and a stack of paper and sat on the bench beside him, scribbling absently on the paper. "You know, I'm thinking you can hear me, you just don't _want _to talk. I don't know exactly what happened to your dad, but I know it was something real bad. I think I know how you feel."

_Fire on the ceiling…unearthly roar…his mother's scream…_

"_He's not _talking, _John! What in the hell am I supposed to do, torture him until he does? And stop yelling at him, damn it, the kid saw his mom die! I wouldn't want to talk, either!"_

"_Well, he can't go through life _silent,_ Bobby!"_

"When I was your age, I saw something…" he trailed off, his mind assaulted with all the memories he'd tried so hard to block out. _Fire…roar…mom screaming…explosion, fire trucks…smoke billowing high into the sky in the shape of a deformed skull…_ He shook himself, forcing the images away.

"Anyway. Maybe you think no one will listen to you, or believe you. I just want you to know I will. You don't even half to talk, you can draw me a picture. Of what you saw that day, with your dad." He showed him his drawing. "This is my family. That's my dad, and my mom, and my geek brother. And that's me." He smiled despite himself. "Alright, so I'm a sucky artist. See you around, Lucas."

It hurt to walk away, but he did. Sam and Andrea were talking, about PTSD. She described Lucas' transformation from energetic little boy to withdrawn. And then Lucas walked over and wordlessly handed a picture to Dean.

Dean's heart wrenched. So the kid _had _heard him, then. He resisted the urge to hug him and comfort him, taking the picture instead. They said their goodbyes and left for the motel, Dean lost in thought the entire way there.

He laid on his back and stared up at the ceiling, images of the day his mom died flashing ove and over again through his brain. Squeezing his eyes tightly shut, he rolled onto his side and punched his pillow a few times to get comfortable.

He didn't sleep very well at all that night.

* * *

Dean resisted the need to pummel his fists into someone's face. Will and Bill Carlton were both dead, now, Will drowning in the sink, Bill drowning in the lake after losing both of his kids and giving himself to whatever it was that was out there. The lake was the source, because that's where the water came from – and whatever it was, it was upping the body count because the lake was drying up. And, it had had something to do with Bill Carlton, because it had taken both his kids and his godson, Chris Barr. Knowing that, they'd gone to the house Lucas had drawn for him, and found an old woman longing for the return of her son who had died thirty years ago, Peter Sweeney.

He kept all of this in mind as he followed Jake into his station, to find Andrea and Lucas already there with food. While he and his daughter talked, his eyes drifted to Lucas. The little boy was rocking back and forth in his chair and his complexion was pale white. It startled him when the boy suddenly lunged forward, his little hands closing around his arm like a vise.

The expression on his face nearly ripped Dean's heart out. The boy tugged him down, and he tried to calm him. "It's okay," he repeated over and over again, unable to stop himself from gently brushing his hand down the boy's hair, a comforting gesture his mother had done countless time to him when he'd been little and that he did to little Sammy all the time. Andrea led him away, and not once did Lucas break eye contact, until he was around the corner and gone.

That was of course before Jake kicked them out of town for not being actual wildlife service. Dean ran over this in his mind as they drove out of town, stopping at the light. Lucas had been terrified. Why? Because he'd been trying to tell him something, something that Dean couldn't know for sure because he couldn't read minds, but the terror in Lucas's eyes confirmed his belief that something was going to happen again. Soon. And he wasn't going to be there to help.

"Green," Sam said suddenly, breaking him out of his train of thought.

Making his decision, Dean turned the Impala back towards Lake Manitoc.

"Interstate's the other way," his brother pointed out.

"I know." He had to get back to that kid. His gut was telling him that something bad was happening.

"Dean, this job, I think it's over."

"I'm not so sure."

"Bill Carlton murdered Peter Sweeny, and Sweeny got his revenge, case closed."

"But what if it's not over? What if we missed something, what if we're wrong?"

This, coming from Dean, who never doubted himself. "But why would you think that?" Sam questioned, incredulous.

"Because. Lucas was really scared."

"_That's _what this is about?"

"I don't want to leave town until I know that kid's okay."

"Who are you?" Sam demanded, exasperated. "And what have you done with my brother?"

"Call it paternal instinct, Sam. Shut up."

They made record pace to the Barr residence. Dean hesitated on the porch, unsure if they were going to be awake, a sentiment Sam expressed equally. Shrugging, Dean lifted a hand to press the buzzer, but before he could the door was ripped open.

And Lucas stared up at them, his little chest surging in rapid breaths as he panted in terror. Dean grabbed his shoulders. "Lucas?" he questioned, and the boy bolted off into the house. The brothers followed without pause, running after him up the stairs.

Water made the floor slick, leaking from underneath the door. Lucas stopped in front of the door and pounded on it once, before Dean guessed what was going on and grabbed him, flinging him at Sam and kicking the door in at almost the exact same moment.

Sam raced into the bathroom, plunging his arms fearlessly into the water, searching for Andrea's body, gripping her arms, and pulling with all his strength. Dean stayed back against the wall, encircling Lucas protectively in his arms while the boy clung at his forearms and continued to breathe unsteadily, his heartbeat a rapid strumming against his forearm. The kid was struggling as his brother pulled Andrea's head out of the tub, allowing her to breathe. He hugged the boy tighter, not wanting to let him get one step closer to the greenish water as Sam wrestled with the spirit.

Andrea survived with no injuries, but all the same…it was on of the scariest moments in either of the brothers' hunting careers, and the scariest of that hunt.

The second scariest came later, when they figured out that Jake had been involved in Peter's death. With Lucas's help, they'd found Peter's bike, only to be confronted by Jake. All of them had argued with each other, until Andrea noticed Lucas on the dock.

Now that – that was the second. Dean had pushed his body as fast as it would go, sprinting for all it was worth, but Peter had already yanked him into the lake and dragged him under. The Sherriff paused at the end of the dock, but neither he nor Sam broke stride, diving off the end of the dock and straight into the water. Andrea stopped at their urging, on the dock away from the water, where she'd be safe.

His heart was pounding frantically in his chest. Lungs burning, Dean broke the surface of the water, eyes searching Sam's. Nothing. He cussed mentally. There was _no way _he was going to let this little boy die. Not on his watch. No, sir.

"Sam?" Dean called.

Sam shook his head.

They dove again. Nothing.

Jake was in the water. "Jake, NO!" Dean bellowed, but he was yanked under the surface. He sucked in the deepest breath he could and dove after his brother.

For a long few second, there was nothing. And then he spotted a small white hand, blurry in the murky darkness. He reached for it, pulling Lucas towards him, wrapping his right arm securely around the boy's chest as he kicked for the surface, his lungs burning from lack of oxygen. He broke the surface, sucking in a deep breath, praying that Lucas was breathing.

He was. Dean held the boy tight as he coughed and spluttered and clutched at his wet clothes. "It's okay, Lucas," he panted, kicking out for the dock. "I got you. You're safe."

Lucas was coughing as Andrea pulled him onto the dock and into her arms, hugging him tightly.

Dean and Sam hoisted themselves onto the dock as well, panting from exertion. Andrea pulled them both forward and hugged them, sobbing in earnest as she cradled her son and rocked him gently back and forth.

The boy grabbed Dean's hand when he went to stand, holding him down. Dean bent towards him, a smile on his face, relieved beyond words that he was okay. "Hey, buddy," he said gently, touching the top of his head in an affectionate gesture.

"Thank you."

All three of them looked at Lucas with wide eyes, and then Lucas grinned, seeming to come back to life before their very eyes.

"Momma, can I have a towel? I'm cold."

Andrea laughed and hugged him tight. "Of course, baby. Come on." She stood, looking at Sam and Dean. "Thank you."

"Just doing our job," Sam said quietly as Lucas hugged first him, and then Dean.

"Well, Sam," Dean sighed, shaking the water out of his hair as they followed Andrea and Lucas. "Two more lives saved."

"Yeah," Sam agreed with a small smile. "I guess so, huh?" Maybe Dean had been right about his dad wanting them to save people, after all. This feeling, though, of euphoria knowing he'd helped brighten a kid's future...it made it all worthwile.

* * *

Dean drove like a madman the entire way back to Wyoming. Sam just grinned and went along for the ride, and before he knew it, they were pulling up in front of the ranch house right around nine o'clock two days after leaving Lake Manitoc.

Paige came walking onto the porch, shielding her eyes against the setting sun as they got out of the Impala. She grinned and started towards them, and Dean didn't bother going slow. He ran right towards her as his relief at seeing her alive and well washed over him.

"Hey," she greeted him warmly. "How–"

He grabbed her waist and spun her around, laughing at her startled squeak, before pulling her into his arms and kissing her with such vigor it was almost as if he thought the world was ending. She didn't fight him, and eventually his lips softened and he gentled his hold, finally pulling away when Sam cleared his throat.

Breathless, she stared up at him when he pulled away. "Well, that was new," she managed, slightly lightheaded as she framed his face in her hands. "What was that for?"

"Because I love you," he replied honestly, kissing the tip of her nose.

"Nice to know. Did something happen, Dean?"

"I'll tell you all about it tonight," he promised, leaning into kiss her again, tenderly this time. "Where's our son?"

"Sleeping," she replied, recognizing the glint in his eyes.

"Sammy," Dean called.

"Yeah, yeah. I'll turn off the lights and lock the doors. Just get up to your room _before_ you start ripping each other's clothes off," Sam said mildly, grinning despite his embarrasment.

"Can do, Sammy."

And they did just that.

* * *

Sam walked out onto the porch the next morning, sighing contentedly. He sipped his soda and watched two of the horses chasing each other around in the paddock nearest him.

A figure appeared leading a big black horse. She would have been impossible to miss without the little tug at both his heart and on the black abyss within him. _It was too soon_. Regardless, he had been Ally's best friend for the first month he'd known her, and somewhere along the way had fallen for her. It hadn't lasted long, but for those few months, he _had _loved her with every part of his heart and soul that he'd been able to give her. Leaving her had been painful but necessary, and then, miraculously, he'd met Jess.

He'd been so sure that he'd done the right thing…it had been their first year of college, and they were getting serious too fast. But all the same, he wondered what it would have been like if he hadn't left and then met Jess…and found a chill running up his spine when he realized that it wouldn't have been Jess on the ceiling, it would've been Ally. He shuddered at the thought. _I'm poison to everyone I love. Mom, dad, Dean, Jess, Paige, Sammy…being around me is _dangerous.

_Stop being such a girl, Sammy._

Sam was slightly startled to have Dean's voice interrupting his thoughts, and squinted in the direction of the stables, where he could see Dean and Paige with Sammy walking down the hall of the barn. So, nope, he was still with Paige. "Great," he muttered, slightly creeped out at the voice in his head. "Now my brother's bugging me inside _and_ outside my head."

His eyes were drawn again to the figure leading the horse. Ty was walking with her, and she heard his deep laugh, followed by hers. The sound tugged at his heart, even as he watched Ty lift Levi into his arms and swing around in circles, making him laugh in delight.

_It's too soon,_ that same voice argued.

_She would've wanted me to be happy! _he yelled at it.

_Sure, eventually…but a month after her death, come on, man! Besides, she moved on. She _does _have a kid, after all!_

He wisely told that voice to shut up. Somewhere along the line, he could picture himself with a family like Dean's. A wife, a couple kids, a dog, maybe a horse. Even as he thought it, though, the idea seemed foreign – all because he could only picture Jess in that setting. The more he thought about it, though, the more Jess blurred, to be replaced by a fuzzy image of Ally. And that scared him the most. He didn't _want _to get over Jess, not now, not ever.

"Sam, you okay?"

Sam jerked in surprise, staring down at Ally, who was somehow standing in front of him with Levi on her hip. He looked around to find Ty riding the black horse bareback around the arena, and Dean and Paige sitting together on Sergeant, the giant brown horse saddle and bridle-less. Chuck was sitting on the fence with Sammy in his lap as the horses made elegant patterns around the ring.

"You've been standing there with a vacant expression for at _least _fifteen minutes, Sam," Ally explained gently to help alleviate his obvious confusion.

"Have I?"

"I said your name about twenty times, yeah." She tilted her head to the side, her amber eyes gentle. "Are you okay, Sam?"

"I…"

"If you tell me 'I'm fine' I'm going to castrate you with a spoon."

He gulped and stared at her, shocked at her aggression. The shy little church house before law school had without a doubt vanished.

Ally rolled her eyes. "Look, Sam," she huffed, shifting Levi to her other hip. "Jess was a good woman, and she loved you a lot. Our relationship might not have worked out the way either of us would have liked, but we both moved on. But I have to be honest with you. This hate that you have bottled up inside, she wouldn't have liked it. Not a bit. She would have wanted you to eventually move on, find someone else to love, someone else to make you happy. She would _want you to be happy, _Sam. She loved you enough for that."

"I don't want to be happy," said Sam quietly.

"I know," she replied evenly. "But that doesn't change the fact that you _have _to let her go. As much as it hurts, you just have to let go."

Sam shifted uncomfortably, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He'd missed talking to her more than he'd ever admit, but he wasn't particularly comfortable talking about the love he felt for his girlfriend when he'd known and loved Ally first, and then left her.

"You'll learn eventually, Sam," Ally predicted. "That if you love her enough, you have to let her go."

He nodded.

"Here, hold him for a second," she said suddenly, shifting her son into her arms to pass him along.

Sam was unprepared for the request. "I…but…wha – why?" he stuttered.

She rolled her eyes. "He's a baby, Sam, not a pit bull. Just take him for a second please."

"I – okay," he said uneasily, accepting Levi and holding him out. Levi stuck his fist in his mouth and sucked on it, staring silently at Sam with intense dark brown eyes. "Uh…hi." Levi just continued to stare while drool oozed down his chin. He made a disgusted face. "Al, he's drooling."

"A little drool never killed anyone," she replied absently, digging through a backpack he hadn't noticed she'd been carrying. She finally produced a sort of photo album and flipped through it for a minute before stopping with a triumphant "Aha!", tugging a few pictures free and returning the album to her backpack and setting the backpack against the porch railing.

She took the boy back and handed him the photo. He accepted it and stared down at the picture on top. His eyes sought hers questioningly. It was a picture of Dean and a familiar dark-haired man at Dean's wedding, his arm over Dean's shoulders. They were almost the same height, the dark haired one being about an inch and a half taller.

"That's Dean and Chris," she explained. "At the wedding. Chris was his best man. Those two would do everything together. I swear, they were like a couple of five-year-olds in a candy store sometimes. Inseparable."

He flipped to the next one, this time a family photo of Chris, a pretty brunette who looked about four months pregnant, and three little kids, a dark haired little boy with his blue eyes and twin girls with light green eyes. He almost didn't want to know, but looked at Ally for confirmation anyway.

"Chris' family, Sam. His wife Amy was pregnant with their second son. Their oldest, John Bradley Newbern IV, was four. The twins, Sydney and Caitlyn, were two. She had the baby a month after he died, and named him Christopher Dean."

Flipping to the next picture, he felt his heart ache. It was taken in a sunny field, probably one of the fields on this very property. Paige was on Chris' back, her chin on his shoulder, and both of them were clearly cracking up. It was obvious the relationship between them was a strong as the one between him and Dean had been growing up.

"They adored each other," Ally said, wiping a tear from her face. "I would have sworn they were twins if I hadn't grown up with them."

"Ally, why are you showing me this?" he asked her quietly.

"I'm teaching by example, Sam. Flip through the next six."

He sighed and did as she asked. This time it was the funeral. Guys in uniform carrying the casket draped in an American flag; the twenty-one gun salute; and the folding of the flag and the soldier handing it to Brad, who had silent tears streaking down his face. Paige sobbing into Dean's chest while tears ran in rivulets down his cheeks. He handed them back to her, unable to speak for a long moment, saddened by his brother's grief and for the grief of the woman he'd come to think of as family.

"Why?"

Ally knew what he was talking about without further elaboration. "They loved him enough to let him go, Sam," she said quietly, gently tucking the pictures into her back pocket one-handed. "You need to learn how to do the same." Her eyes fell on where Dean, Paige, Ty, Chuck, Sammy, Jared, and the three dogs were sitting in the grass to the side of the barn, talking and laughing in the midday sun.

Sam's eyes followed her gaze. Dean was talking to Jared while his wife leaned against his chest and chatted with Ty and Chuck, who were both lying on their stomachs, propped up on their elbows to talk, while Sammy rolled around and screeched with laughter as the dogs licked and nuzzled his face. As they watched, Paige tilted her head back to speak to her husband, and in response, he grinned and leaned down to kiss her tenderly.

"Because if you don't, Sam, you'll never have _that_."

He looked down at her then, his expression broody. "Who is his father?" he asked quietly as he looked at Levi, unable to hold in the question that had been tugging at him since last week when he'd seen her at Jay's.

Ally smiled without humor. Her eyes locked with his, and she bit her lip as her son yawned and leaned his head on her shoulder. "Do you really want to know, Sam?" she asked seriously.

_No, not particularly. Thanks though. _"I do."

"Okay." Ally gathered the nerve, squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and met his gaze with a challenge in her eyes. "I'm looking right at him."

* * *

Don't hate me! I had to do it, people! Plot development! *ducks* Samgirl19, I sincerly hope I didn't kill you with that... *sheepish grin*

So……? Thoughts, opinions? Love, hate, need critiquing? Review are sincerely loved, guys! Thanks a million to those of you who have stuck with me this far. Be kind, review! Let me know what you think! Seriously, helps my writing.


	12. Chapter 12

Author's Note: Shocker in the last one…sorry if I killed anyone…anyway, we get to see Sam's reaction, and moving into the next case….More of Paige's and Ally this time. Like I said, new case, but of mystery, slight thriller…enjoy.

Disclaimer: Own my OC's and original plotlines, and that's it…

* * *

_Ally smiled without humor. Her eyes locked with his, and she bit her lip as her son yawned and leaned his head on her shoulder. "Do you really want to know, Sam?" she asked seriously._

No, not particularly. Thanks though_. "I do."_

"_Okay." Ally gathered the nerve, squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and met his gaze with a challenge in her eyes. "I'm looking right at him."_

_~-~-~-~_

_I'm looking right at him. I'm looking right at him. I'm looking right at him…_

Sam stared open-mouthed, every part of his body turning to ice. "Come again?" he croaked. He was dreaming. He had to be. There was no way this was real. But it _was _real; he'd known deep in his chest that the boy was his from the first moment he'd laid eyes on him.

Ally looked exasperated. "Sam, for God's sake, I just told you."

"I…I…I have a son?" he breathed. Son. He had a son. A living, breathing, mopheaded, chubby, _drooling_ son.

Levi looked up at him, his dark brown eyes thoughtful as he grinned, dimples flashing in those chubby little cheeks.

"Oh my God. I…" he breathed, pain arching through him like an electric shock as tears stung his eyes. This baby, this beautiful little boy, was _his son_. He was a _father_. And he hadn't even known. Hadn't been there for one second up until now. The thought of Ally going through all of that alone damn near ripped what parts of his heart had survived losing Jess right out of his chest.

"Didn't know, Sam," Ally finished for him, her voice heavy as she grimaced and sat on the railing, settling Levi in her lap. "I was afraid, when I found out. I wanted to tell you so bad, but…when I finally worked up the nerve…"

…_you were already with Jessica._ The unspoken sentence hung in the air between them.

Further despair and guilt weighed down on Sam, widening the hole within his heart and soul he darkly referred to as his abyss. His eyes fell on Levi – his son, his precious baby son. He drank in his image as if he were dying of thirst; like he'd never get to see him again. His gaze memorized every part of him – his slanted, catlike brown eyes; the curve of his round and rosy little cheeks; the adorable dimples that flashed every time he smiled; the little cleft on his chin…

"Why?" he breathed, anger stirring deep in his gut when he realized he'd been robbed of the opportunity to ever be a father. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I couldn't, Sam." Ally massaged her temples with her free hand. She sounded tired, as if all the fight had just gone out of her all at once, leaving her deflated in its wake. "I saw it as my burden to bear. I…I couldn't bear the thought of you leaving her just because I was too stupid to use birth control. So I kept it to myself. I carried him, gave birth to him, raised him…I thought that adding him to your life would take away everything you ever wanted; would rob you of a life with _her_. I know you Sam. You would have chosen me, married me, because of this little boy. I couldn't and wouldn't force you to make that choice, nor would I have been able to live with myself for the rest of my life. So I did the only thing I could, the only real option that I had. I chose to do this alone." She smiled without humor. "I loved you enough to want you to be happy, Sam."

Sam's voice rose despite his best efforts to keep his temper in check. His emotions were like a whirlwind, leaving him feeling like he'd been chewed up and spit out and then run over by a truck. "That little boy is my son too, Ally. You had no right to keep him from me!"

Ally released a long breath. It had been a hard decision to finally tell him. Now, with his entire frame rigid with tension, she regretted her decision. Even with the way he towered over her, though, his eyes dark with anger as he glared down at her like some worldly interpretation of an avenging angel, she couldn't deny that she still loved him. Damn the man, she couldn't ignore the way his broad shoulders filled out his long sleeved shirt, or the way his eyes darkened every time he was angry. She broke from his penetrating gaze when her son started to fuss.

"I know that, Sam," she said evenly, her heart breaking all over again. She shifted Levi to her shoulder and rubbed his back, feeling him start to drowse off as his body relaxed. "But next Wednesday, I'm going back to Stanford."

"And leaving me."

"Takes one to know one, Sam." Ally's tone was frosty.

Sam just crossed his arms and backed up until he was leaning against the wall facing her. "So you'll never let me see him again?"

"Of course I will. Don't think that I wouldn't, not for a second." She bit her lip, looking down at her knees for a long moment. "You're welcome in his life, Sam. But with hunting and everything, I just…"

The thing that hurt the most was that, well, _she was right_. Being around him was dangerous. Especially with the weird dreams he'd been having lately, about people dying…dreams that sometimes came true. And he knew a demon had killed his mom in _his _nursery. Not in his parent's room, not in Dean's room, but in _his _nursery. The mere thought of it made his skin crawl at some long-buried, blurry memory that, try as he might, he couldn't conjure back up. All he knew is it was bad, and that thing had been _evil_.

"I understand." His voice was soft, so soft he was surprised that she heard him. He cleared his throat. "But if you'll allow me just t-to…" he stuttered slightly on the phrase, "to get to know him?"

"Of course, Sam. I'm going to visit a lot over the holidays, and this summer. And you can call anytime you want, I'll give you my number. But, as much as it pains me to say it, I think it's just safer for everyone as a whole if you aren't there, you know, like…all the time."

Sam nodded. "So, uh, this is going to sound random, but he was born June twenty-fifth, right?"

"Yeah, he's a little over a month younger than little Sammy."

He leaned forward, his eyes intense as he locked gazes with her. "Do you remember what you were doing Christmas night?"

"Sleeping, Sam," she replied with a grin. "What else would I be doing?"

Unease curled in his gut. "Nothing."

Sam rolled his shoulders in a vain attempt to release some of the tension building between his shoulder blades. It helped, a little. But he couldn't alleviate the feeling in his gut – it felt like he'd swallowed acid, and it had settled in his stomach and was eating him from the inside out. He couldn't help but wonder…what had the demon done to Levi without him there to protect him? That was, of course, assuming that he'd even done anything at all.

He'd worry about it later. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Would…would you mind letting me actually hold him?" he asked shyly, unashamed of the fact.

"Of course not." She shifted the now-sleeping boy so that he was cradled in her arms, and then handed him over, holding her breath as she watched the first real reaction between them as father and son.

Sam just stared down in wonder at the little person held securely in his powerful arms, grinning foolishly over how _long _his son's eyelashes were where they brushed against his round little cheeks. He sat down on the swing and was content to just hold him with joyful tears brimming in his eyes, watching his little chest rise and fall with each breath and the way his eyes flickered beneath his eyelids as he dreamed. Ally sat beside him and leaned her chin on his shoulder, her eyes not on her son but on the father, who was completely oblivious to anything but their little angel, now sleeping peacefully and with complete abandon, snuggled for the very first time into his father's warm chest.

Ally just wished she had a camera. It really was a beautiful moment.

* * *

Paige sighed and watched the Impala disappear at the end of the darkening drive. Her mind was on Dean and the look they'd shared before he'd ducked into the Impala and started the engine. It wasn't the first time she'd watched him leave without knowing if she was ever going to see him again, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. It was something she'd always been used to – she'd grown up a hunter, known since the moment she was old enough to understand that death was a part of their lives. She ached to go after him, and would without a moment's hesitation–if it weren't for the beautiful child in her arms and the precious life sheltered in her womb.

As a little girl, she had watched people sob in grief, and had never really understood. For her, it was reality that every time her family walked out the door, there was a very large chance that they weren't ever going to come back. But for normal people, it was almost never like that. They didn't live with death as a constant companion, a shadow that loomed over every aspect of their lives, lurking at every turn, waiting greedily to snatch away what happiness they had managed to hold onto.

Ally was shaking her head in disbelief from her vantage point on the porch swing, one foot pushing off against the ground, the gentle creak the only sound in the sudden silence following the absence of the Impala's growl. "I don't know how you do it."

Talk about calling the kettle black. "Painfully." Paige spoke in a clipped tone. "It's not like I have a choice. This is my life, Ally."

She shrugged. "Not a life I would have chosen, that's all I'm saying."

"I didn't _choose _it." Paige spun on her heel and stalked back into the house, setting her son in the playroom with Klaus as a watchful guard before moving to the kitchen, every part of her twitching with the need to do _something, _anything. She needed to spar, that's what she needed to do. Too bad for her Jared wouldn't, not when she was pregnant, anyway. She _could_ go running. Or hell, even shooting. Unfortunately, these things were not _allowed _for pregnant people, because they were _dangerous. _Her idiot cousins treated her like she hadn't been sparring with Navy SEALs and Marines and Delta boys from the tender age of seven; like she wasn't an expert marksman in every rifle or sidearm known to man. Quite frankly, it was damn irritated. She was sick of being treated like porcelain already, and she was hardly even two and a half months pregnant.

And then there was Ally. Her supposed _best friend_, who knew about hunting and her family's involvement in it, but who actually understood virtually nothing about it at all. The same "best friend" who had neglected to tell her all these months that her godson was actually really her _nephew_. She growled at the thought and headed for the kitchen, needing a knife in her hand. Maybe she'd make Dean's favorite chicken. Or maybe, she'd stick it in her "best friend"s throat, for having the gall to assume that she'd _chosen _this life of pain and fear and misery and heartache. Most damn ignorant statement she'd ever heard.

Sighing theatrically, Ally followed her friend into the kitchen. "I didn't mean to make you mad," she said hesitantly. "It's just…you never did anything to be anything _but _a hunter." She grimaced as the jumbled sentence came out.

"Don't even start all that self-righteous crap with me, Allyson Nicole Baraldi," Paige warned as she jabbed her index finger in her friend's face. Her blue eyes were steely with anger. "You are as much a part of this world as _I _am, now."

Ally was indignant. "I most certainly am not!"

"You most certainly am _are_, and have been since the second you made the decision to have sex with Sam Winchester. You got _pregnant, _Ally, with his baby. And now, that baby is drawn into the _craptastic_ rollercoaster ride that is the Winchester family." Paige's tone was even and devoid of all emotion. Her eyes belayed the true depth of her distress, making Ally instantly guilty for not telling her friend the parentage of her son the moment she knew she was pregnant with him.

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry doesn't cut it."

"I didn't mean to hurt you, Paige."

"Yeah, well, you did. Good for you."

"Damn it, you're like my sister! I _love _you like you're my sister!"

"Well, you've got a goddamn funny way of showing it!"

They stood staring at each other, their chests heaving. Golden brown warred with stormy blue as they glared at each other.

Paige sighed heavily, deafening in the silence. "Look, I'm sorry," she said, in a low voice. "It's just that this family drives me absolutely crazy sometimes."

Ally was shaking her head frantically. "No, I'm sorry," she insisted, wiping a tear from her eye. "I wanted to tell you _so bad_. But I was afraid, Paige, I was afraid that you'd tell Dean and that he'd tell Sam, and then my already fragile world would come crashing down around my ears." She forced herself not to cry; she was drained as it was, crying now wouldn't help.

There was a crash from the living room followed by a loud yelp and Sammy's screaming cry, and both of them froze, turning towards the sound. Without hesitation, Paige sprinted into the family room (also known as the play room, for the playpen in the corner), drawing a knife out of practically nowhere while she did so. The dogs weren't barking. Why the hell weren't the dogs barking?

"Sammy!" she gasped, skidding to a halt and hastily dropping the knife on the side table nearest her, rushing over to the playpen to scoop him up into her arms. "God, don't scare mommy like that. Hush that crying now, you're fine."

Sammy's crying only increased in volume. She gave him a gentle little shake, brushing the hair off his forehead–_Dean's forehead_–with gentle fingers. Since he was calm now, she set him back in the playpen.

Ally stepped around her friend the bookcase set against the wall and lifted up the remnants of a glass picture frame. "It's okay," she called reassuringly. "It looks like Klaus might have accidentally knocked this off the bookcase with his tail."

Klaus lifted his great head at the last comment, ears cocking forward at the sound of his name. He looked at Ally for a minute, before dropping his head back to the carpet and watching them with the alertness of a guard.

Paige frowned and stepped up beside her friend. "What picture did he knock off?"

"One of a bunch of guys, look." Ally pointed to the only familiar face in the picture. "Isn't that Jared?"

"Yeah." Her eyes traveled the path from the door to the playpen, brow furrowed in thought. "Huh. Weird. Klaus would have had to move awfully fast to get all the way over there–"she pointed to where he was laying calmly on the carpet beside the playpen gate–"from over here." She pointed at the ground beneath her boots.

"Yeah, weird. He's fast, though. Right?"

Her friend didn't answer.

"Paige?" she said, nudging her gently.

Paige was staring distractedly out the window, her eyes unconsciously turned towards the northern border of her lands, the border that merged with the southern border of Jared's lands. It was pitch black and impossible to see a thing, but she knew exactly where to look. There was a feeling of wrongness building within her gut, making her go tense in reaction. _Something was wrong, very, very wrong._

The window was open. She stepped clearer, straining to hear, holding up her hand to silence any sound Ally would have heard. All she heard was silence, broken only by the soft sway of a gentle breeze through the fields.

And then she heard it, faintly in the distance. So quiet, she never would have detected it unless she'd been specifically listening for it. _Barking. _And not just barking – the frantic, deep barking that she instantly recognized as the way the dogs alerted to danger. That barking grew steadily louder, and suddenly, Klaus leapt to his feet and was at her side in an instant, lips curled back from his teeth.

Sammy started crying again, and Ally scooped him up, holding him tight in reaction to the tension thrumming so tightly in the room she could have cut it with a knife. "Paige, what's happening?"

Alarms blared, startling her so bad she screamed, making her nephew cry even harder. Heart pounding, she rubbed his back soothingly and rocked back and forth, bouncig him slightly in an effort to calm him down. She stared at the ceiling and the source of the alarms, as Paige looked down at Klaus, one hand resting on the top of his great head.

"_Proximity alert. Northern border." _The voice made Ally jump, and she chastised herself. It was just a damn alarm system.

"What's going on?" she shouted over the din, frustrated when Paige didn't so much as answer. Her face was drained of all color, pasty white beneath her tan, showing the dark circles smudged beneath her eyes. She was looking outside as if staring death right in the face. And that scared the hell out of her, because Paige was as tough as nails – she was a soldier, a warrior; she wasn't afraid of anything, damn it, and never had been.

Well, she was afraid now.

"The mountains," Paige said, voice far away. "My god, they're coming down from the mountains." She latched onto Ally's arm so suddenly that she jumped out of her skin in surprise. "Quickly! Follow me!"

Ally hastened to obey, struggling to keep up with her friend as she bounded three at a time up the stairs, Sammy's weight deadweight in her arms. "Slow down!" she begged. "What's going on?"

"Intruders over the northern border," Paige said, shoving the clothes out of the way in her huge walk-in closet. "We installed that security system four years ago." Her fingers expertly punched the keys of an electronic combination lock fastened to a silver safe, a safe that apparently materialized right out of the wall, and that Ally had never seen before. It was literally the size of a door. With a soft _click_, it swung open on well-oiled hinges.

Paige unceremoniously shoved Ally inside, still holding a now-quiet Sammy. Her heart was a frantic beat in her chest when her friend disappeared. She held the boy tightly in her arms, knowing that Paige was going to her room to get Levi. All the same, her knees were shaky, her breathing was hitched, and she realized with a sort of detached fascination that she was gasping in terror.

And then her friend was there again, and the light clicked on, and her hitching breathing paused for a minute. The room was as big as her room in her parent's place back in Cali. There were two cots against the far wall, and all available space on the other three walls occupied with every sort of weapon she'd ever seen. Guns of all shapes and sizes on shelves set at angles to clearly display the weapons with corresponding ammo boxes stacked beside them. There were racks on which hung blades ranging from a tiny pocket-knife to a full-on machete; with every sort of dagger and military-issue knife imaginable in between. Throwing stars, crow bars, rock salt shotgun rounds, big containers of pure salt, sniper rifles that looked like they could range over a mile; it was the biggest collection of weapons in one place she'd ever seen.

Under the ammo shelves, in clearly marked boxes on the floor, were brown packages she recognized as MREs (Meals Ready to Eat), as well as big bottles of water. There were also baby bottles and tins of baby formula, as well as canned baby food, and she could have sworn a miniature cooking stove and a box of pots and pans.

Beneath the cots were boxes of clothes: military issue shirts in black, brown, green, and white; camouflage pants in every hue she'd ever seen a soldier wear; sturdy combat boots in black or desert tan; belts in tan, black, or green…there was even a box of socks folded into three inch blocks and underwear, folded into six inch blocks. All of this was for both men and women.

And the _walls_. They were sold iron, and painted with all sorts of symbols, the most prominent of which being a pentagram on the wall over the cots. There were also two giant ones spray painted in black on the floor. She touched the walls surface curiously, startled to find it coarse. She licked her fingers daintily and tasted salt. What in the all holy hell was all of this? It was like a bomb shelter, just on the second floor of her best friend's house. She'd known Paige was a hunter, but man, this was over the _top._

Paige lifted an eyebrow, looking pointedly at Ally. "Dude, relax," she soothed calmly, handing Levi over. She stripped out of her clothes, tossing them in the corner, and hastily dressed in jungle camo pants with a black shirt, tucking it in and holding it there with a black belt. She pulled on her black combat boots, knowing that it was a starless night out and would be pitch black with the cloud cover.

"What's that?"

"A military-issue flak vest," she replied absently, securing the straps in place, along with a contraption resembling knee pads. She quickly put her hair in a bun at the back of her head, digging around in one of the boxes and emerging with a duffel bag she proceeded to stuff with a .50 caliber sniper rifle (technically illegal in the US, but she had connections), a sawed off shotgun loaded with rock salt as well as an extra ammo box, her favorite 9mm glock handgun, and three clips of both normal rounds and silver rounds, three bottles of holy water, a packet of salt, and six grenades (two flashbangs and four frags).

"Are you going to war or something?" Ally hissed in shock, holding both Levi and Sammy close as she watched Paige fasten a holster to her belt that she promptly clipped her second 9mm glock into. To her other side fastened a sheath for a very big knife, the leather piece so long she clipped it around her thigh with a buckle to keep it from snagging on anything or flapping against her leg and making unwanted noise. Her eyes widened when Paige picked up a giant knife, the Ka-Bar knife that had been a present from Christopher upon her graduation from boot camp, kissed the hilt, and slipped it into place in the leather sheath, leaving the snap undone just in case.

Four knives later – one in each boot, and two more into her belt – Ally was quite amazed at the change in her friend as she watched her grab magazines and stuff them into the cavernous pockets her pants. She reminded her of that movie _GI Jane_, or whatever it had been called.

Paige was in full on go-mode, aware that she was on a tight schedule and didn't have much time. She made sure she had lots of magazines and grabbed her prized M16, slinging it over her shoulders so that it hung down in front of her. She only had one empty pocket left, and into that she slipped her night-vision goggles and a canteen.

"Ally, listen to me," she said urgently, crouching in front of her.

Ally started in surprise. She was on the floor. When in the world had that happened? She forced herself to focus when Paige grabbed her cheeks and shook her head gently.

"This is important. I'm going out there."

"No way! No, not–"

"Ally, you can't fight!" Paige cut her off, slapping a hand over her mouth. "I can. I'm trained; I thought of sparring with Navy SEALs like most kids thought of playing video games, even when I was in first grade. I've got a good chance at survival out there. This is the life I was raised in. I _have_ to do this." She smiled at the tears streaking down her best friend's face, gently wiping them away with a gloved hand. "Ally, you're safe in here. When I turn off the bright lights, there's infrared lights like they use on aircraft carriers, okay?" Ally nodded mutely in response, and she was relieved her deer-in-the-headlights friend was paying attention, because the next part was important. "I need you to do something for me. I need you to protect my son. Can you do that?"

Ally nodded mutely, forcing herself to stop crying. "Paige, the baby," she pleaded, grabbing her arm.

"If I don't do this, we all die." Paige spoke with utmost clarity. "They don't know you're here. So they won't look for you. You stay here and protect my baby. I'll protect the one that isn't born yet. The alarm's blaring throughout the town, help will be here soon. I can hold them off until the cavalry gets here, with their giant dogs and kick ass guns and badass combat skills."

Ally didn't smile at the shot at humor. The whole situation was too dark. All she could think of was Dean's face if he told her something had happened to his wife. "Paige, think of Dean."

"I _am _thinking of Dean," Paige said quietly, squeezing her shoulder. "Listen. This safe is hidden in the closet. There's a panel that slides over the safe door to keep it hidden from unwelcome intruders. That protection can't be awarded if we're both in here. Someone has to hide the entrance."

"You're pregnant, damn it!" Ally shouted at her. "If anything happens…the baby, god, what about the baby!?"

"_ALLYSON, I DO NOT HAVE TIME TO ARGUE WITH YOU!"_

Ally started, slightly hurt by the harshness of Paige's tone. Her blue eyes were dead serious and bore into hers, demanding calm. A faint memory rose to the surface – this had been was Chris fondly referred to as her _soldier face_ – dead calm, even in the face of certain death. She breathed deeply a few times, forcing her shaking to cease, only mildly aware that both of the boys she was holding were crying.

"There's no time. I have to go. I have to go now, so that you have a chance." Paige grabbed the duffel and tossed it out the door like it was nothing. And then she turned back, hugged her son and kissed him. "I love you, baby boy." Her eyes locked with Ally's. "If anything happens to me, Ally, I need you to promise that you'll tell Dean I love him with all of my heart, and that you'll raise my son to know that I died to protect him."

Tears poured unchecked down her cheeks.

"Promise me, Ally."

"I promise," she choked.

And with one final grin and cocky salute, Paige was gone, the door clanging shut behind her. The light clicked off, leaving her and the two children alone in the soft infrared glow.

With no one but the boys to watch, she cried silently for a very long time, while she waited for some sound, any sound, that would give her some clue as to what was going on.

Time, it seemed, dragged on forever. She was sitting on the cot, her feet dangling over the side, shotgun propped against the wall beside her, while the boys slept peacefully with their heads in her lap. Her eyes never strayed, not once, from the door she sat facing.

It had been hours. She glanced at her watch – it was just after midnight. Paige had left almost five hours ago, an unusually long time, even for her. _This was it. Paige had failed. _She stroked the hair back from Levi and Sammy's foreheads, marveling in that moment how much each child resembled their fathers. And steeling herself from the flood of tears sure to come, she watched the door, waiting for it to start caving in, knowing with all her heart that it was some kind of supernatural ugly, or Paige wouldn't have been so freaked, and neither would the dogs.

"_Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil..."_ she mentally recited, unsure why she clung to long-ago childhood memories of bible classes now, of all times, when she'd thought of herself as a bit of an atheist. What was the line? 'There's no such thing as an atheist in a foxhole', or something like that? Well, she could agree there._ Whoever wrote that verse was a moron, no offense to whomever may be listening to my thoughts, because man, I'm absolutely terrified and abandoned to die with these babies, alone in this room. Sam Winchester, wherever you are, get back here already. Please, Sam. Please, God, I just want Sam._

_I need you, Sam. _We _need you. And you know, God, while I'm in the praying mood, send Dean and Paige along too, wouldja? He'll kill this thing dead in two seconds flat, and she'll help._

And then she heard it.

A shuffling, sniffing, throaty noise. _Just outside the door_. A rumbling growl. Every nerve in her body stood on end, and she forced herself to breath steady despite the pounding of her heart, so loud that it seemed deafening. She was sure that whatever it was probably knew that she was in here by that sound alone, but if by whatever chance it didn't, she wouldn't give them away by gasping for air like a lung cancer patient.

It had found them.

_Too late, God._

* * *

End note:

To all you religious types, I _am not bashing on religion_. I myself believe in god and heaven and angels and whatever. I am not, in any way, trying to impress upon anyone my religious opinions and beliefs. My OC does not reflect my beliefs on religion at all; it is just a huge milestone that she is actually praying to God for help when she has nothing left, seeing as the OC herself is an atheist.

So I hope I didn't offend anyone, and if I did, I apologize. Just to clarify again, I am not bashing on any kind of religion in any way shape or form.

And now – reviews are sincerely loved, people! Seriously. Be kind. REVIEW! (pretty please)


	13. Chapter 13

Author's Note: Look at that! I'm alive!

Sorry, school this week was a nightmare…I've had so much homework I barely get to bed before two. Didn't leave much room for sleeping and eating, let alone writing. Anyway, I apologize for any spelling errors. Hope the wait was worth it!

**WARNING – THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS PHYSICAL VIOLENCE. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.**

* * *

Freezing cold yanked her back to consciousness. Paige reflexively held her breath when she realized she was submerged in water. Pain assaulted her body with an all-out attack. Her body ached all over. She thrashed, finding both her hands and feet to be bound. Panic urged to overwhelm her; she pushed it down forcefully and managed to remain calm. The weight of her equipment was sinking her. If it wasn't for all the training she'd received she would be panicking and probably would have drowned by now.

As it was, SEARs training had gotten her used to being underwater with gear on. They'd run helicopter crash simulations in water hundreds of times, until they'd been able to get out of the cockpit blindfolded.

She was sinking, fast. And then her boots struck solid bottom – it didn't feel like dirt or rocks. She couldn't see a thing in the inky blackness. Bending her knees to a ninety degree angle, she shoved as hard as she could. Her head broke the surface and she sucked in a big lungful of air, relieved as oxygen returned to her lungs.

Wherever she was, it was only about ten feet deep. She sank again, wincing as pain tore through her sides – at least three of her ribs were broken. _Damn bastards_. Her hands were bound behind her back. Slowly, she pulled her knees up to her chest and tucked them under her chin as tightly as she could. Her shoulders screamed in protest and in pain, but she was able to wiggle her hands around in front of her body.

Getting her Ka-Bar out of the sheath was easy enough then. She nicked her wrists and ankles a few times while cutting her numb hands and booted feet free, but succeeded in releasing them. Her feet were freed next. With experienced fingers she stripped out of all of her gear, including her boots, listening carefully to it the _clunk _as it all struck bottom. Metal, maybe? She wasn't sure; it was hard to determine without being able to see.

Without the extra weight, she would survive longer treating water. On the other hand, the water was freezing. And Wyoming was cold at night, especially at these times. It wouldn't take too long before she started showing signs of hypothermia. She estimated seven, eight hours tops, depending on whether she started to cramp in her legs or not.

Treading water was an automatic action. She hugged herself tightly, arms folded protectively over her still-flat belly, praying that she hadn't been beaten on the abdomen when she was unconscious. Her ribs were broken from the back, though, that much she could tell. Her left shoulder was numb and felt kind of funny, and her entire chest was racked with unbelievable pain. No matter how much training one has, a broken rib is a broken rib. She forced herself to breathe evenly despite the stabbing pains in her lungs and back, assessing her injuries.

There was her shoulder – she was fairly certain she had at least partially dislocated it. Her back was throbbing and stinging in a few places. Her guess was they'd thrown her on her size and kicked her repeatedly, which would account for the broken bones, the bruising she could already feel, and the broken skin. Her hands were stinging smartly from the nicks on her wrists, but quickly numbing. That was both a good thing and a bad thing. She was in water, alive, with no harm to her baby as far as she could tell.

Her dad had always said "_pain is just weakness leaving the body"_.

And that left her to wonder. The last thing she remembered had been being struck on the back of the head right after Jared, which would explain her current pounding headache. She remembered voices – deep, male voices – and then maybe a fight? Her memories were so jumbled she couldn't keep them straight. This meant that she most likely had a concussion.

Holding her hands out in front of her, she moved forward, searching for a wall or any clue to where she might be. Her hands struck cold metal. So she'd been right, then. She was being kept in some sort of metal container filled with water. Keeping her hands on the wall, she moved to the left, fingers never breaking contact.

There were no corners.

"Cylindrical container," she muttered to herself, slightly alarmed at how raspy her voice sounded. "Where in the bloody hell am I?"

And worse, where was Jared?

* * *

_Five Hours Earlier_

Paige lay on her belly in the grass, camouflaged with the terrain around her. Her right eye was pretty much glued to the night vision scope of her .50 cal sniper rifle. She was facing east, and therefore could pan north, and south again, keeping her house and Jared's house in relative view.

She hadn't thought they'd be bold enough to come down here after all this time – it had been almost fifteen years since she remembered dogs ever acting like that. It was inevitable that they'd find her connection to John Winchester eventually, but she hadn't expected it to be this soon. So far, she hadn't spotted anything. But the barking of the dogs had ceased. She sincerely hoped that it was because Jared had gotten them inside, and not because they had been killed. If her dogs were dead, she was going to be seriously ticked off.

_Slow is fast and fast is steady, baby sis_, Chris' voice said in her ear from a memory buried deep in her mind: the first time he'd taken her shooting, just the two of them. He'd been endlessly patient, her goofy big brother. She heard it so clearly, it was like he'd leaned down and whispered it in her ear.

_I know that, Chris. And I'm not really having a conversation with you. _She had these mental conversations with him so often, though, that she hardly noticed it anymore. Sometimes, they were so bad she would have vivid hallucinations of him everywhere: in Jay's diner, sitting on the back of his big horse Boeing, straddling the fence while he watched her and Dean teaching Sammy how to ride a pony.

She heard his laugh as clearly as if he were lying right next to her. _Of course not, baby girl. I'm just a figment of your crafty imagination._

He was quiet after that. She shifted her position slightly, scanning the terrain for any movement. Her heart literally stopped when a foot crunched down four inches from her left elbow.

And she heard it – that sniffing; the slight rumble in the chest. She forced herself to breathe silently, turning her head up with agonizing slowness. Finally, she saw a tall man with shaggy black hair, wearing nothing but a pair of jeans and boots, head thrown back as he sniffed the air.

_Them_, Chris' voice snarled in her ear. She told him to shut up and focused on keeping her heart rate down, thankful she'd taken a pill to calm her nerves before leaving the house.

_Well, as much as I smell, at least I thought to roll in a bit of cow manure. He can't distinguish me from the fields, now._

_Lay still, baby girl. Don't move a muscle. He can't smell you. If I was actually there, I'd kill him myself. Guess Dean just gets to do that for me._

_Christopher John Newbern, do me a favor, would you? Shut the hell up. I can't focus._

He sighed. _Alright, baby girl. If you say so. But if you do something stupid, the big brother in here is gonna kick your ass, missy._

_Sure, sure. _The urge to slap herself was almost overwhelming. She was having a conversation in her head–with her dead brother. Man, she was a freak.

Shaggy moved off, and she followed him with her scope, heaving a silent sigh of relief. She'd never actually seen him, but John had mentioned a hunt he'd done up in the forest. When Dean and Sam were sleeping, she'd cracked open the old journal Dean had set on the bedside table and flipped through it. There had been a brief, vague entry on his time here about eleven or so years ago – and that entry was now gone, torn out along with several other cases. She'd memorized the message, though, committing it to memory in case she should ever need it.

_12 June 1993  
__Laramie Mountains  
__North of Thunder Creek, WY  
_42°16′0″N 105°27′0″W / 42.26667, -105.45

_Found the pack today after nine days of tracking. They're careful. For a while I was convinced they'd moved out of the area, until one of the younger ones revealed himself. Watched them for a while. The one I killed was replaced by another big one; he seems intent on peace. It's the SIC I'm worried about. Adrian. If he becomes leader, he'll bring his wrath upon the town below. Too many of us there._

If _he _was here, the others were, too. That meant that she was not only outnumbered, but also outmuscled and outgunned, too. Fan_freaking_tastic. When–if–she got out of this alive, she was eating the biggest bowl of ice cream known to man.

A howl split the night air, making her shiver. Figures shot by through the fields below, mere blurs from the speed of their travel. Her heart rate increased. A man appeared literally out of nowhere, moving towards her house, strolling right through her front door like he belonged there.

Minutes passed in agonizing slowness, until he appeared again, shaking his head at someone before melting into the darkness. Relief spread through her like a flood – thank god; they hadn't found Ally and the kids.

Hairs rose on the back of her neck. She closed her eyes briefly in short prayer, unsurprised when a hand clamped down on the back of her neck and she was dragged to her feet. Oily chin-length brown hair hung in gold eyes flecked with red. He smiled, revealing yellow teeth.

"Well, hello sweetheart."

~*~*~*~*~

Jared Knox was at home alone, as he was pretty much every night. He'd always considered himself to be a bit of a lone wolf – after growing up the youngest of five boys, he'd learned from a young age how to keep himself busy.

His four brothers and parents had long ago moved out of the big ranch house. His parents, Pete and Lara, were living in California with Paige's dad Brad. Three of his older brothers were married and had started families. Theo, the eldest, lived in Virginia with his wife and three kids. He'd graduated from college and joined the FBI, and was currently part of a special unit known as the BAU, a specialized unit that hunted for serial killers, murderers, and kidnappers. Michael, the next eldest, was also in the FBI and lived in Maryland with his wife and two sons. Jake, the middle child, was currently overseas fighting with the Navy SEALs in Iraq and Afghanistan. Elliot, too, had joined the military, but he was a former Army Sergeant who fought with the Special Forces branch Delta Force. He lived in town and was Sheriff of the Thunder Creek Police Department. He lived in the northeast corner of the ranch with his wife and baby daughter.

Jared smiled as he remembered his military days. He'd joined the Marines at the age of eighteen. As soon as the DIs figured out what a great shot he was, they put him down for Scout Sniper training. He was shipped off to training the minute he graduated boot. He'd graduated with flying colors and fought with them until he was twenty-one.

He'd been home for two years now. The war adventures had been great and everything, but this place had always been his home. The prairies of Wyoming had always called to him more than any of his brother's. He was the rancher, it ran deep in his bones. He hadn't minded in the least being the brother to take up the Knox ranching empire.

All the same, sometimes he wished for a family. He really did get lonely out here, all alone all the time.

The kitchen was silent. He was used to it by now. The only sound in the vast emptiness of his home was the soft humming of the fridge in the kitchen. With a resigned sigh, he grabbed the stack of dog bowls beside the sink and filled them full of kibble from the canister beside the door.

At the first sound of food his three dogs bounded into the kitchen, as silent as wraiths. They stood by his sides with their ears pricked forward, bright intelligent eyes watching his every move as he prepared there long-awaited-for dinner. His bloodhound, Duke, was drooling a small puddle on the floor, where his Mastiff Charlie sat silently with his lip caught in his teeth and his German Shepherd Reaper repeatedly nudged his thigh with his cold black nose. He scratched each set of ears and set their bowls on the floor.

While they wolfed down their food, he grabbed a beer and dropped onto his plus couch, his feet hanging over the side as he stared up at the slowly revolving ceiling fan. Yep, this was the life, all right. Maybe if he was lucky it would fall out of the ceiling and land on him. At least that would be exciting.

Charlie and Reaper were suddenly beside him, their appearance so sudden he almost inhaled his mouthful of beer in surprise. Coughing and spluttering, he sat up quickly to cough heavily before pointing a glare in the general direction of the dogs. He hated it when they did that.

"What is it, boys?" he asked, setting his beer on the coffee table and scratching Charlie's block-like head. "What do you hear?"

The response was a rumbling growl that reverberated deep from within the mastiff's chest and a carrying, lilting snarl from Reaper. Both dogs had the hair on the back of their necks standing straight up.

Jared's blood ran cold as the alarms started blaring, announcing an interference with the sensors on the northern border. He'd seen this before, with his dad's dog Athena, when he was seven. He bolted upstairs to his master bedroom before the thought had even registered. He emerged from the safe room in his closet mere moments later dressed in his military clothing, complete with ghillie suit to camouflage to the terrain.

The dogs were barking like mad downstairs. He ran down them two at a time at a dead sprint, his rifle held in front of him for balance as he skidded around the corner into the living room and snapped his fingers. All three dogs stopped barking and came immediately to his sides. "Garage," he ordered in a hiss, opening the door. "Get in your kennels."

They did as they were ordered. He closed the doors and draped towels over them to keep them from barking at anything they saw. He still heard barking, and stuck his head out his garage side door just in time to see Perseus streak by. He whistled softly, and the Great Dane spun around and headed back for him, followed closely by his cousin's German shepherd. "Come on, boys," he hissed. "Kennel."

Perseus and Fritz went into them without protest. Jared was relieved he'd had the two extra crates already set up. And then he ran out into the night, silent as a ghost, his .50 caliber sniper rifle a comfortable weight in his arms. He had a long haul across the fields. The sky was dark – there was no moon and no starts to give him light tonight. But he knew his cousin almost as well as he knew himself. Paige would put Sammy, Ally, and Levi in the safe room. And then she would go to bush, just like him, in an effort to protect her family from whatever it was that threatened them, taking cover in the darkness.

Settled into his vantage point overlooking his family's land, Jared lay perfectly still amongst the brush, scanning the landscape with his scope. At first, there was no movement for a long time. And then he spotted a figure, a darker shadow against the black sky.

Next thing he knew, hands dragged at him, flipping him over. And then pain erupted against every line of his body. He reflexively curled into a ball as tight as he could to protect his internal organs while the invisible force pummeled him from head to toe. As the blows continued, he cried out in pain. He felt a rib crack halfway down his side, pain licking up his side like flames. When the left side of his collarbone cracked he almost passed out from the pain, biting his cheek to keep himself awake. If he passed out now he'd be beaten to death. He didn't dare move his elbows from over his kidneys to punch back, because he didn't know how many of them there were.

A round object–most likely a fist, he realized in a detached fashion–connected with his temple. His vision erupted in white stars and he sprawled onto his back as the savage beating stopped. Breathing was difficult around the metallic taste in his mouth. Gasping, he stared up at the vast black ocean of sky above him. Painful pressure was exerted on his arms and legs. He was being pinned, and deep within his mind he was mortified and furious that something or someone had gotten the drop on him for the first time in seven years.

Blinding white light shone into his eyes, and he cursed and turned away. _Fantastic_, he thought bitterly. So much for his night vision.

"That him?" a voice asked, part of the black sky above him.

What the hell? The voice was human. Husky, but human. He didn't remember ever hearing that voice before. Maybe he'd been wrong. Maybe they _weren't_ being attacked by the same force.

"Nah," a deeper voice replied. "Too young. Blue eyes, not brown."

Something square was shoved in his face. He couldn't focus on it because of the bright orbs burned into his vision. All the same he pulled his head back as far as possible in case it was some sort of weapon.

"Do you know this man?"

_Death before surrender_. Marines would rather die than talk, or at least he would. Sticking true to his training, he remained silent. Besides, he couldn't see the damn thing anyway.

"He can't see the picture, Morg," Husky replied with apparent irritation. "I _told _you not shine the light in his eyes. Shine it on the picture, you moron."

"Oh," Deep/Morg replied. The light shifted away from his face and to the square instead.

Jared thanked his Marine instructors for his training. God bless his ability to keep his expression schooled to indifference as he gazed at the photograph of the man Husky had shoved in his face. He would know that weathered face, scraggly beard, and graying hair anywhere: John Winchester, Dean and Sam's dad. He just stared up at them blankly. He was caught, damn if he was going to endanger anyone else.

"He ain't saying nothin', Graff."

"I can see that, moron. And it's 'nothing' not 'nothin'. He's a Marine, and a sniper at that. They train these boys to keep their mouths shut." A hand clamped down on his broken collarbone, eliciting a silent scream of pain. "Knox, huh? Well listen here, soldier boy. I'll ask you one more time. _Where. Is. He?"_

Jared counted slowly in his head. Fifteen seconds passed.

A fist lashed out, connecting with his nose. Jared felt the bone crack in a sickening crunch, and then warm, sticky liquid was streaming down his face. He couldn't help it. He smiled, because he knew that in six minutes, the entire town would come rushing to the rescue with more guns and training than the United States Army.

"Where is he?"

His smiled didn't fade.

"Kill 'im."

"No. Adrian wants him alive." A boot pressed onto Jared's throat, cutting off his breathing. He took careful, shallow breaths like he'd been taught to keep himself from passing out.

"So what do we do?"

Jared was braced for the next crushing blows. Naturally, he was surprised when they never came. All of his energy was focused on sucking his air in through his teeth as the edges of his vision started fading to black.

"WHERE IS HE?"

"I don't know," Jared spat.

"Where is he?"

"Over the rainbow," he gasped, fighting against the blackness. Another blow, this one to his chest, another rib cracking with the impact. He screamed despite himself.

"WHERE?"

"Go to hell!"

Blood trickled down Jared's forehead, getting in his eyes, the thick liquid blinding him. He coughed, tasting blood. Someone stomped on his wrist, and he felt the bone snap. He screamed again.

"Stop!" a new voice shouted angrily. "Morgan, Graff, stop!"

Jared didn't know who the newcomer was, the he was thankful for the reprieve from his beating. He rolled onto his side and tried to ignore the pain lancing through his body. What he saw next almost made him wish he'd died a long time ago.

"Look who I found." The light shifted to the new figure, a tall, looming mass of a man with shortly cropped black hair. The other two men started laughing as the beam fell on the tangled blonde hair grasped in the newcomer's hand.

"Paige," Jared groaned in horror. His cousin just looked at him, her face expressionless. Fury surged in him when he saw all the bruises coating her body. They'd ripped off her shirt and done a number on her body, but her abdomen, thank god, wasn't bruised. She was bleeding from multiple lacerations on her back and arms and a cut over her left eye, but her eyes were lucid and she was alive. That's what he had to hold on to. "What did you do to her?" he roared, struggling helplessly.

"Hogtie him and throw him next to her."

"Yes, Adrian."

"Make it quick, Morgan. I'm going to go sniff out that brat in the pictures."

Jared's hands and feet were viciously bound, twisting and turning his body into painful angles. They threw him unceremoniously on the ground, his left shoulder screaming in protest as his injured clavicle was jostled. He bit his lip to keep from crying out. His cousin was slammed down beside him, hissing. He could see the bulge of her broken collarbone and the weird angle of her shoulder.

"You okay?" he whispered, pressing closer to her.

She nodded. "Fine. A few broken bones but I'll live."

"And…"

"Fine," Paige said, reading the question in his eyes without him having to say it aloud. Relief rushed through him. The baby was okay, then. Thank god for that.

"What the hell is going on?"

"I don't know. I think that they think I'm John's wife."

"No one knows where he is, Paige. Not even his own kids," he pointed out.

"I know," she mouthed at him.

"We'll get out of this. I promise you. They'll come for us."

Paige's expression was a mixture of doubt and hope. She smiled slightly. "Your nose is broken," she murmured. "So much for your pretty face."

"Nah. Doc Schmidt can fix it. Never fear," he whispered back, scooting even closer until he could press his cheek to hers. "I'm here. Don't worry."

"Alright, we don't have a choice, then," Husky said from behind them. "Kill the guy. We'll have fun with her before we kill the bitch."

"Just kill the guy," Adrian said. "But not the girl. Not yet."

A rifle butt slammed into Jared's jaw, and the last thing he saw before he blacked out was his cousin's frightened blue eyes.


	14. Chapter 14

Author's Note: *gasp* An update! It's amazing! Those plot bunnies attacked with a vengeance! Enjoy!

**WARNING: CONTAINS VIOLENCE, TORTURE, AND BRIEF MENTION OF RAPE.**

**

* * *

**"So, a soldier, huh?"

Paige glared silently up at her captor. Every inch of her body ached, right down to the tip of her toes. She was currently tied to a chair with her hands bound behind the backrest.

"And a quiet one at that, especially for a woman. I can respect that."

She hated this man. She hated everything about him – his short-cropped black hair, his glinting black eyes, his sneering mouth, and his cocky strut. She wanted nothing more than to bash his face in with a Louisville Slugger. Too bad he wasn't standing close enough for her to kick, or she'd have done that already. This was the man who had attacked them in the dead of night. The man who had ordered his cronies to kill her cousin.

"What's your name?"

_Princess Peaches_, she thought sarcastically. This creep honestly thought she was going to tell him anything. Ha, as if. She stared straight ahead and remained silent.

Adrian grinned evilly and stepped forward, running his hands up her stomach. She pulled away, hate flaring in her eyes. His hand brushed her breasts before pulling her dog tags into the light. "Paige Newbern," he read aloud. "D15. What's a D15?"

She didn't say a word.

Grinning, he leaned down and pressed the heat rod against her thigh again, burning the flesh and sending waves of pain up her leg. She whimpered despite herself; but damn, it hurt.

"I asked you what a D15 is, whore."

"Delta Fifteen," she snapped. "Helicopter pilot."

"Ah. So you just flew around the battle instead of fighting in it." He smirked, making her want to punch him. "Guess that means you don't know how to fight then. How sad."

Restraining a snort was difficult even with the pain. Not knowing how to fight? Was this guy serious? Pilots went through some of the most grueling survival training in the military. Apparently, this guy had lived under a rock his whole life.

"Typical job for a woman, really. Cowardly job," he continued.

_Cowardly, ha. Like hell. I'd like to see you haul your cottage-cheese ass through SEARs training! _Chris growled in her head.

_Shh, not now. Tense situation, Chris. I can't move. And…h-he keeps touching me. _

_Fight back. Head butt him. Do something. Don't you dare give up on me!_

_I'm not giving up. But if I fight, he could hurt my baby._

_Baby girl, whatever you do, do _not _tell him about the baby. Promise me._

_I don't know why I would have to. You're just a figment of my "crafty" imagination, remember? _she pointed out. _But I'll humor you. I promise. No word of the baby._

Adrian's fist connected with her cheek, snapping her head to the side. Dazed, she blinked several times and shook her head to expel some of the ringing in her ears, staring at him in angry shock.

"I asked you a question, bitch," Adrian growled. "How many times did you spread your legs for John Winchester?"

"Never," she growled back.

"Where is he?"

"I don't know! How many times do I have to say it before you accept it? I DON'T KNOW!"

"You're married to the guy. Shouldn't you know where he is?" Adrian growled, his hand fisting in her hair and yanking savagely. She yelped angrily and turned her head to clamp her teeth town on his wrist.

"OW!" he howled, backhanding her across the face and holding his offending extremity. "That hurt, you little bitch!"

She glared defiantly at him, ignoring the stinging of her fat lip. In her entire life she'd never hated anyone more than she hated him in that moment. She wished the moon would crash down on his head, as unlikely as that was to ever happen.

"I've been following you for a while," he sneered, bending down in her face. She pulled away, disgusted. "Learning your habits. Watching you change." His hand brushed her shoulder, and she flinched away and ground her teeth in frustration and fear. "Watched him touch you…does your loverboy know that you're having an affair with a younger man? I should just take you right here, if you like it that much."

And then it hit her. This man thought that she was having an affair. With Dean – her goddamn husband. He was delusional, to put it mildly. And in that moment, her heart ached for the one person she wanted more than anything else in the world: that cockier-than-hell smartass husband of hers with his brilliant green eyes and shit-eating grin. She longed for him like she longed for air. All she wanted was to feel the reassuring warmth and strength of those arms wrapped around her.

"And that little brat? You want to tell me why he calls your lover boy daddy?"

"Because he _is _his daddy," she snapped before she could censor. Horrified by her slip, she clamped her mouth shut and stared straight ahead, not looking at him.

"Ah. A lovechild. How sweet," Adrian sneered, backhanding her again. "Bet Johnny boy didn't like that. But then, he was always so good at running away, wasn't he? He killed our last leader, Joseph. In cold blood. Just killed him and walked away, calm as pie. Lucas took over, ruled us for a time. Got tired of him, though. So I killed him and took over myself." He looked down at her, his dark eyebrows furrowed in apparent thought (though she had long ago deduced he didn't have much of a brain to think with). "He's away a lot, I take it. Gives you lots of time for – what was his name, Dean?"

He didn't wait for an answer, just kept on talking like she wasn't even there. "I've seen the way he touches you, you know. Shame on you. A married woman, too. You seem to welcome his touch, even relish it. In love with him, I assume?"

_No shit, Sherlock, she's his wife_, Chris' voice growled. Paige ordered him to shut up.

Adrian laughed. "Guess that makes you nothing less than a common whore then, huh?" she smirked. And then he paused and looked at her for a long silent minute. "Unless…you aren't actually married to John. You're married to Dean."

_Finally! _Chris cheered. _Numnutz has a brain!_

_Not now, Chris!_

"Oh, this just keeps getting better and better. Dean is John's son?"

Paige didn't reply. Her face expression didn't even shift.

"Well, that's perfect," Adrian said, leaning forward, his hands grabbing her knees. His black eyes were level with hers when he grinned. "Now, I can kill you to get at both of them."

She smiled. A look of confusion passed over his face. And then, she slammed her head into his temple as hard as she could, sending him reeling back. Her vision spun unevenly before steadying again. She thanked god for her hard head, and then she felt her hands and feet being roughly bound in rope.

"Throw her in the abyss," Adrian snarled.

And then, for the second time in a matter of hours, someone struck her and she fell into unconsciousness.

* * *

_Four hours ago, after leaving Thunder Creek  
Approximately 730 PM_

Dean sighed and shifted in the Impala seat, yawning. "So where are we headed now?" he asked Sam, who was feinting sleep in the passenger seat. "And please, no women in white, man eating bugs, plane demons, or crazy psycho bitches that jump out of mirrors."

When Sam jerked out of his train of thought his knees crashed into the dash with an impressive _wham_. He cussed loudly and moaned, clutching his throbbing joints. He glared at Dean, a lock of his hair hanging in his eyes. He puffed it out of his face impatiently. He'd been lost in thought over their encounter with Bloody Mary and his resurfaced guilt over Jessica's death. It had been his fault, this had just proved that. It felt like they'd been working non-stop, with little stops at home inbetween, just long enough for a day or so. It gave Dean time to unwind and him time to get to know Levi a little bit, now that Ally had decided to take a few months off school so that he could get to know his son. It also gave him time to get to know his adorable little nephew. All of this had been interrupted by his annoying-as-hell older brother.

"I was sleeping!" he growled angrily.

"Uh, no you weren't," Dean said seriously. "You were _pretending _to be sleeping." He looked at his brother, for the millionth time wondering what he had meant by "_You don't know everything, Dean"_. It opened so many freaking doors. Was he going to marry her? Was he engaged to her? Had she been pregnant when she died? God, he was burning to know, but didn't dare ask.

Sam huffed in disbelief. "And how would you know?"

"Your breathing was uneven and you were twitching, dude. I happen to know that when you fall asleep, your right index finger twitches for a few minutes, before you go completely slack. If you're just tired you toss and turn until you get comfortable, but if you're exhausted you tend to drool with total abandon. Plus, I know you barely sleep at all anymore because of what happened in Cali."

"That's…" Sam trailed off, amazed. "Dude, what the hell?"

Dean rolled his eyes and grinned. "Dude, _who _changed your diapers? Yeah, so not dad. That would be me." He pointed a finger at himself and smirked.

Sam swore under his breath. In the few years he'd been away from his brother he'd forgotten how truly observant he was. Dean always noticed things that Sam never would have even glanced at in a million years. Sure, he may _act _like a brainless womanizer most of the time, but that was just a façade. Dean was actually quite intelligent. Usually, anyways. "It's slightly creepy that you know that about me."

"I practically raised you, so yeah…not really." Dean studied his brother for a moment. "What arm do I put into my shirts first?"

"Left," Sam answered automatically. He closed his mouth with a snap and peered curiously at Dean. Oh.

"Told ya," Dean teased, punching him lightly on the arm.

"I see your point," Sam grumbled, crossing his arms and glaring sulkily out the window.

"So, we ever going to talk about this?"

"About what?"

"Don't play dumb, Sam," Dean sighed, rubbing his eyes. "About Bloody Mary."

"No. I'm fine."

_Right, cuz the screaming nightmares are just totally normal, you know_? He gritted his teeth, annoyed by his brother's blatant lie. At the same time, though, he wasn't being exactly chatty about Chris, so he couldn't get _too _mad. "Sure ya are, Sammy. If you don't want to tell me, fine, whatever. Now. The case?"

"Oh, right." He dug around in the seat behind him for a moment before pulling his laptop forward and opening it in his lap, relieved Dean had let it go for once. "So, there's a string of unsolved murders in South Dakota." He clacked away rapidly on his keyboard for a few minutes. "There's only one eyewitness, a young boy named Charles Hughes."

"How old is this kid?"

"Uh…" Sam squinted at the screen. "Two; he'll be three in May. He hasn't spoken since it happened and keeps repeating 'monster' to everyone who asks what killed his parents. Police have dismissed it because he's too young to remember much of anything."

"Sonuvabitch," Dean snarled. "What did he say he saw?"

"Easton claimed it was something that looked like a big dog, or maybe a small bear. And, he said it had big, red, and glowing eyes. I mean, there's not exactly a lot you can get out of a two-year-old, you know?"

Dean nodded. "Huh," he muttered, fingering his chin. "Blackdog, maybe?"

"Or maybe a hellhound?"

"If it was a hellhound, why would it kill both parents? Hellhounds are sent out by demons to capture souls. I've never heard of two going at the same time."

"Good point," Sam muttered, heaving a weary sigh. "I'll dig deeper."

"Nerd," Dean said under his breath.

Sam punched him on the arm without looking at him. "I heard that," he said mildly, causing Dean to smirk. And then he got completely absorbed in his work.

This was the boring part of every hunt – the driving in silence. Without even really thinking about it, he put a tape in and kept the volume medium as Metallica rang through the car.

Almost an hour later they had passed halfway across Wyoming.

"I hate South Dakota," Dean grumbled mournfully.

"Why?" Sam wondered.

"It's so…boring."

Sam snorted and leaned his head back against the window. He was dozing in the comfortable hum of Metallica's _Enter Sandman_ when the sound of Dean's phone ringing startled him so bad he jumped and slammed his head into the ceiling.

Dean snorted. "Hand me my phone," he ordered. "It's in the glove box."

"Dude, there's like fifteen phones in here," Sam complained, digging through them.

"Far left."

Grunting in annoyance, he tossed it at Dean, but not before glancing at the caller ID to check it wasn't his dad. He was disappointed to read instead: MICHAEL BRENT.

"Hey, asshole," Dean said cheerfully as he opened the phone. "How's the FBI treatin' you?"

Sam heard a raised, tense voice on the other end of the line. Dean tensed in his seat in reaction, going as pale as a ghost. "Dean, what is it?" he said, alarmed at his change in demeanor.

"WHAT?!" Dean roared suddenly into the phone.

The Impala was suddenly skidding as Dean slammed on the brakes and flipped her around. The force of the turn smacked Sam's face painfully against the window, his heart pounding at the sudden change of direction.

"A warning would have been nice!" he scolded.

Dean was accelerating already, going twice as fast as they had been before. The phone was still in his ear. "WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN, SHE'S MISSING?!"

The voice on the other end was roaring, too.

"How long?" he demanded. "An HOUR? And you're just calling me NOW?!" He swerved around a truck with a trailer, ignoring the honking. "God damn it, Michael! I'm putting you on speaker."

"_We didn't know what in the bloody fucking hell is going on, Dean,"_ an agitated male voice snapped from the other end of the line. _"The alarms went off announcing a disturbance on the northern border. Everyone gathered at the town square. Ty and Chuck worked through the fields; when they got to the house it was empty. No sign of anything, but all the lights are on."_

"Did you check Jared's?"

"_Same. His three dogs and two of yours crated and covered in the garage. All his lights were on, too. But his ghillie suit and .50 cal sniper rifle are missing from his safe."_

"Who the hell is in charge?"

"_Elliot's leading the search party and Jay's his second. We've mobilized every able-bodied man, woman, child, and dog in the hunt, Dean. We'll find her."_

Dean stared straight ahead, angrily punching the dash.

"What's going on?" Sam asked loudly. "Dean?"

"_Who the hell is that?"_

"My brother, Sam," Dean said flatly. "Sam, that's Michael Brent. He's an FBI Agent. He works in the Behavioral Analysis Unit stationed in Denver."

"You talk to the FBI?" Sam hissed, shocked.

Dean flashed him a look that clearly conveyed the message _not now_.

"_I'm Paige's cousin,_" Michael barked. _"Dean, we're looking, alright? But it's a hell of a lot of land to cover. It's going to take a while."_

"Get Elliot and Josh up in the choppers."

"_They're airbound as we speak_."

"Take the Humvees mounted with .50 cals, too."

"_Dean,_" Michael's voice said, calm. "_We are going to find her. We were raised in this, same as you. Trust us."_

"This is my wife we're talking about, Mike," Dean said flatly. "And she's carrying my child."

"_All the more reason to kill these bastards when we find them." _Michael sighed loudly. _"How far away are you?"_

"Forty minutes tops."

"_I thought you said you were in SD?"_

"I'm going ninety-five."

"_I'll keep you updated."_ His voice grew distant. _"No, Nick, what the hell are you doing? That's a fifty cal, not a thirty. Don't look at me like that! Just load it! And someone get on that goddamn chopper door! Now! Don't' make me go Navy SEAL on your ass, because trust me, I will!"_

"I'll call you when I'm rolling in," Dean announced.

"_Right." _There was a loud _boom _and indistinguishable yelling. Michael's voice was strained when he said,_ "Brent out."_

The line went dead, and Dean closed the phone.

Sam was waiting for an explanation. When Dean turned to face him, Sam's heart sank at the despair and fury battling in those familiar green eyes.

"Paige is missing. So are Jared, Ally, and the kids."

It was all the explanation Sam needed. They both stared ahead, towards Thunder Creek. Dean to his wife and kids and one of his best friends, Sam to the girl he let get away and the boy they had together and the town he was coming to love.

"Drive faster."

~*~*~*~*~

The next thirty minutes dragged on forever. Both brothers were utterly silent as the Impala roared along at ninety-five back towards Thunder Creek. They pulled into town to find every light in the place turned on at maximum, flooding the entire place with bright florescent light, and the entire area bustling with activity. Dean parked outside Jay's diner in an empty slot marked "Winchester".

Dean got out of the car with Sam hot on his heels and looked around for a long moment. The entire area was bustling – people were running every which way dressed in military camouflage or all black clothes with guns in their arms or slung over their shoulders, mingled with soldiers, uniformed police officers, what appeared to be a SWAT team, special forces soldiers, and more than a few guys wearing FBI and POLICE vests over their clothing. Cars were zipping around the activity, and upon closer inspection, there was a sort of assembly line where Humvees were pulling up and being mounted with .50 cals or loaded with ammo. Dogs of varying gigantic sizes barked and bayed with excitement, intermingled with men shouting orders and the squawk of radios.

"This is chaos," Sam observed. "It looks like we're going to war."

"That's because we are at war," Dean replied, spotting an all black Yukon suburban pull up and two guys hop out. "Come on, follow me," he ordered.

"Michael! Noah!" he bellowed, voice echoing across the area, some people pausing in their activity for a moment before racing off. He started darting through the crowd, sidestepping guys with dogs on leashes and Humvees driving through, making a beeline for the suburban.

The two guys turned at the sound of his voice, shielding their eyes from the bright floodlights in search of the speaker. When they turned, Sam hesitated, seeing the broad FBI lettering across the vests guarding their chests. Dean, however, raced right forward to clasp both of their hands. Sam started open-mouthed at both of them – Michael was his height with blonde hair and piercing blue eyes, and the other, supposedly Noah, looked to be about six foot seven with massively broad shoulders, blonde hair, and emotionless blue eyes. Both of them were hulking masses of muscle and power. He gulped, not quite sure if he liked these FBI guys or not.

"Hey, man," Michael said tiredly. "We're splitting the land into grids and putting two Humvees with each party." He smiled when Sam stepped forward and shook his hand. "I'm Michael Brent, and this is my partner, Noah Claybourne."

Everyone shook hands, before Michael continued explaining. "We got two birds in the air with searchlights, but I'm not sure if doing that now is the best idea," he continued, holding his hand out. Noah slapped a roll of paper into it and he spread it on the hood of the car revealing a map that he weighed down with a coffee cup and his sidearm. "We spread it into grids like this, here." He pointed to the neat grid system drawn over the map of the land owned by Jared and Paige. "There's two Humvees per grid, like I said. Approximately five searchers and five dogs for each, plus the guys in the trucks. We've got about twenty snipers currently in the area who volunteered to be scouts. I already sent them out in pairs of two. They split up and took a grid line, moving north towards the mountains and fanning over the land looking for any unusual tracks or disturbances in the brush."

"They've been ordered to report in every five minutes," Noah said, pointing. "The red circles represent where each team started their patrol. So far, we've got nothing concrete from any of them."

"And the birds?" Dean asked.

"Blacked out," Michael replied, pointing up. "I've got them circling at two thousand feet. When we need help, they're raring and ready to go. I've got two guys per as door gunners, plus two snipers. Elliot's chopper has two EMT's on board, and Josh's has got Doc Schmidt and an EMT."

"What is this? _Black Hawk Down_?" Sam asked, watching them calmly discussing war tactics. "What the hell is going on?"

"Kidnapping," Noah replied immediately, looking at him like he was stupid. "By supernatural creatures you would call _werewolves_."

"Werewolves?" Sam repeated. Sure, they'd wasted them before. But not like this - never like this. This was...well, an all-out assault, to put it mildly. It seemed like overkill for one stupid werewolf. But what kind of werewolf kidnapped people? They just ate people's hearts and then left. He was confused as hell. "Why the all-out assault?"

"I said werewolves is what _you _would call them," he corrected, unclipping his sidearm and checking the magazine, looking down at Sam, an entirely new sensation for Sam because he was used to being the hulking giant looking down on people, not the one being looked down on. "We, however, refer to them as _shapeshifters_, because they don't need a full moon and they don't eat out people's hearts."

"There's no such thing," Sam said immediately. Werewolves that could control themselves? Impossible.

"Isn't there?" Noah said with a smirk, lifting one eyebrow, his eyes lighting with a glint that promised bodily harm. "You got any proof otherwise, smarty-pants?"

"Noah, go brief the searchers before you rip his leg off and beat him to death with it," Michael ordered, ignoring Sam's comment and shoving his partner's shoulder. Noah nodded and jogged off. "Careful with him, kid," he warned. "He's a bad ass mother fucker, to put it midly. He'll stomp you all over and kick you into next Thursday." He then turned to his brother. "Dean, what grid do you want?"

"Just get me out there, Mike," Dean said, strapping on the vest that Michael handed him. "When did the alarms first go off?"

Michael reached into his vehicle and pulled out a laptop, double clicking on a program and setting it over the top of the map. "Time stamp says approximately sunset," he said, pointing. "The alarm was turned off exactly forty-five seconds later."

"So she knew they were coming."

He nodded. "And we can't find Ally or the kids."

"Can you get me to my house?" Dean asked, clipping his sidearm to his belt.

"Sure," Michael said instantly. "But why?"

"When we installed the security systems, Jared, Elliot, and I had a special addition added just in case something like this ever happened. We knew they were living over the mountains, we just didn't know if they would ever attack," Dean explained.

"You have a security system?" Sam said, blinking.

"Yeah. It's got sensors hidden all around the borders of our land that pick up if anything passes over them. Usually it's just a stray animal, and if it's something small, it's a small beep. If it's several large animals, however, the whole alarm system goes off. Which means both Elliot and Jared knew they were coming, too. Elliot's closest to town, so he just loaded up Lisa and Abby and came straight to town. Jared's the closest to the northern border, so he probably left the house as fast as he could, Mike. He's a sniper, he knows his best chance is in his own territory. Best case scenario, he's out there somewhere watching on a scope."

"And worst case?"

Dean stared gloomily at the map. "Worst case, they got him, Mikey. And in that case, he's probably dying as we speak."

"Where do you think Paige is?"

He turned and stared in the direction of his home, miles away from town. "She would have put Ally and kids somewhere safe. And then she would have gone to brush, too. If they have her, though, they aren't going to kill her. At least not yet."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked, brow furrowing in confusion.

"I mean they're going to torture her. And when they kill her, they'll make us watch."

"And the kids?"

"I'm betting Paige put Ally and the kids in the saferoom we had installed in our walk-in closet," Dean said quietly. "They'll be safe. You can only access it from the outside and it's a ten-digit code, making a billion combinations and impossible to decode in anything less than a week unless you actually know the combo. Ally's armed to the teeth in there, too, so worst case scenario she can defend herself."

Michael clipped a magezine home in his sidearm. "Well, there's no time to waste then. Come on."

"Those won't work," Sam said quietly, nodding at Michael's gun. "You need silver to kill a shapeshifter."

The FBI Agent just smiled and shared a look with his brother. Dean pushed him on the shoulder to get him moving. "They are silver, Sammy. All of them. Even the fifties. Now come on, let's go."

* * *

Paige was so tired, so cold. She knew she had to keep her eyes open, but it was just getting harder and harder. And then she heard a grating metal scream, and ducked back away from the sound instinctively, her heart pounding. Was he here? Had Dean finally found her? Or had they come to check that she was dead? A beam of light shone into the chamber, and she sank beneath the water, holding her breath to feint death.

There was a splash, and something sank, before the door swung shut again. She forced herself to move forward, her fingers curling in the fabric of a sleeve and pulling up as she rose to the surface, coughing.

"W-Who's there?" a voice said weakly.

"Jare?"

"Baby girl?"

She hugged him in the inky blackness, holding him tight as tears flowed freely. "A-Are you okay?" she asked him, reaching up a hand to trace his face in the darkness.

"Been better, coz," he admitted, his voice full of pain. She could feel the pain etched into the features of his face as well. "I'm tied up hands and feet."

"Can you take a deep breath?"

"I can try."

Paige realized that making him hold his breath wasn't a good idea. His voice was full of pain. She couldn't see his injuries to assess his condition, but she could feel hard bulges in the clothing pressed against her.

"Wait," she realized. "Are you in your camos?"

"Yeah."

"Do you have your K-Bar?"

"My left hip. I can't reach it."

"My hands are free," she said quietly, reaching around to his other hip, feeling down his side and trying to ignore his hiss of pain as she touched his ribs. Finally, her fingers touched the hard handle, and she felt around for the clasp holding it in place. As soon as it was free, she wrapped her fingers around the hilt and pulled it carefully out of its sheath, trying not to nick his skin with the blade.

"Got it?"

"Yeah, I got it. Where are your hands?"

He pressed them against her shoulder. Working in the dark was awkward, but she was able to cut him free without much fuss, her legs powerfully treading water as she fought to support both her weight and his plus his fifty-ish pounds of gear. "There," she gasped. "Did I nick you at all?"

"No," he said clearly. "Not bad, Swims Like A Fish."

She laughed despite herself. Her grandpa Larry, her mom's dad, had grown up in Montana near an Indian reservation. As a result, he'd had some Indian friends growing up, friends he still had to this day. But he'd given all the grandkids Indian names when they were little. Christopher had been "Killer Guppy". He's wanted to be Parana because of the way he was so skilled at silently sneaking up on people, both in water and on land, but Grandpa had insisted that self-naming wasn't allowed. She had been dubbed "Swims Like A Fish" because of the way she'd thought of water as her second home and been so comfortable in the element, and their little sister Claire was "Talks A Lot" because she'd always been a bit of a motor mouth.

"Likewise, Beartrap."

Jared chuckled, followed by a soft pained gasp. "Ow," he said weakly. "Laughing is so not a good idea when your ribs are broken. Help me undo my feet."

Paige whacked his hand when she felt it move past her leg. "Don't you dare, Jared Graham," she said firmly. "Skull with your hands. I'll undo your feet and remove your boots. Got that?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said meekly. His breathing was uneven, but his head was above the water, at least. She was confident he wouldn't sink – for now, at least – and found his boots, quickly but carefully sawing through the ropes holding his legs together. When she was done she unlaced his boots and slipped them off, freeing his feet from their sinking weight.

"There," she said as she returned to him, slipping her arm under his arm and across his shoulders. "I got you. Why do you always have to go getting yourself in trouble?"

"Hey, I only stepped in a bear trap once," he defended himself, his arm snaking around her waist, his hand fisting in the fabric of her shirt. He was wheezing slightly. "Can you help me get my vest off?"

She was already undoing the snaps and buckles. His hand caught her wrist. "Wait," he ordered. "I've got a couple flares tucked into my pocket. I'm pretty sure they're calcium flares but I'm not positive, they might be magnesium. It's worth a shot."

He held it out, and she grasped it. She took a deep breath. If it was Calcium, it could be submerged underwater and would provide them with light. If it was Magnesium, though, it would have to be held above water.

"Where the hell are the walls in here?" he wheezed, struggling to breathe under the weight of his flak vest.

Paige lit the flare, letting go of Jared and turning her face away. It flared to life with a loud hiss, illuminating her own personal hell. The flare was bright enough to stretch to all sides if she held it as high above her head as she could. "What the hell?" she breathed.

They were in a water tower – the one on the edge of Jared's land. She was sure of it. And there was a single door, nothing but a square in the wall with only the tiniest sliver underneath it to give them air. At least it was something, though.

"Well, this blows," Jared wheezed from beside her. "Drop it. See if it stays lit."

Paige obeyed, dropping the flare. It stayed lit as it sank to the bottom, both of them watching it settle about ten feet down. The entire chamber was lit with a faint glow, just enough for them to see each other.

"Good for me, I grabbed the right one."

She turned to her cousin then, her eyes stinging when she saw the deep cut on his forehead. "Ouch," she whispered, reaching out to touch his forehead. His face was bruised. "Are you okay?"

"I've got a hell of a headache and more than a few broken ribs. You?"

"Same." Her lip wobbled. "I thought I'd lost you," she whispered in a broken voice.

His grin faded as his face turned serious. "Hey, I'm still here, baby girl," he assured her, grasping her shirt and pulling her forward. "And I'm not going anywhere. I made a promise to Chris that I intend to keep for the rest of my life. You can't get rid of me that easily. Now come here. It's fucking cold; we'll survive longer with the additional body heat. We've got to try and stay as still as possible, too."

"Because our bodies will heat the water around us," she replied, allowing him pull her forward. "I know, Jare. I passed survival school, too, remember?"

"Yes, I remember," he assured her. "What's the best way to do this? Front-to-front or front-to-back?"

"I don't think it matters either way," she replied, ignoring his attempt at a joke.

"Come here, then," he ordered, tugging her shirt harder and pulling her through the water. "Help me get all this crap off. I think they broke my wrist, so you'll have to do it for me."

Paige drew in a deep breath and looked at him. "Can you tread water?"

"My legs are fine," he replied. "I think I can support us both for a while. What do you need to do?"

"I'm going to pretty much just hug you to undo the back straps," she answered. "I might jostle our ribs, though."

He nodded acceptance. "Do it."

She slipped her arms under his, reaching around for the clasps. She had to tighten them before she could undo the buckles, and he gasped several times in pain as she squeezed his broken ribs. "I'm sorry," she whispered as she eased it over his shoulders and head and then through his arms, dropping it and watching it sink. "I'm taking off your pants next, okay?"

Jared nodded, breathing through his teeth.

She grabbed his belt and undid it, wincing as he groaned in pain and clutched at her shoulder with his good hand. "God, Jare, I'm so sorry," she whimpered as she fumbled with the buttons. Taking a deep breath, she ducked under the water to his ankles and undid the ties keeping the pants in place. She surface again, coughing, and eased the pants slowly over his hips and down his legs. He kicked them off when she had them down far enough, leaving him in soggy T-shirt, boxers, and knee-high socks.

He was wheezing loudly. "I'm okay," he gasped, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. "I just think they might have broken something in my back. It feels weird."

Paige resisted the urge to hug him, knowing it would only cause him pain. "Talk to me, Jared. Stay awake."

"What…do you…want to…talk…about?" he said through clenched teeth.

"Anything," she replied. "Tell me anything."

"That flare will last for about two hours, tops."

"Good. Just keep talking. You have to stay awake."

"I'm going to be pissed if they hurt any of my cows."

She laughed slightly at that. "I don't think they'd touch your cows, Jare."

"I'm serious," he said, opening his eyes. "Bessie is a dam good lassie. She's borne four healthy calves in the years since I've had her. Gentlest little thing, too. If they hurt her I'll hunt them down."

"First, studmuffin, we need to get you to a doctor," she said, smiling in an effort to hide her worry.

"You need one too," he told her gently, kissing her temple. "That shoulder looks fucked up."

"So does yours."

They were silent for a long time, shivering slightly in the mounting cold.

"You know….something….weird?"

"What?" she said gently, moving behind him and grabbing him under the arms, resting her hands on his chest as she helped to keep him afloat. Moving her arm was murder because of her collarbone, but somehow she managed.

"Before…Chris…died…he told…me something."

Her heart ached both at the mention of her brother's name and the obvious pain speaking caused him. "What did he say?"

"I…wanted to…tell you…earlier. Just in…case something…happens."

"Don't talk like that," she pleaded. "Just stay awake. Dean will come, I know he will."

"He said…to tell…you sorry."

"Why?"

"He…"

Jared's head slumped back onto her shoulder and his body went limp.

"Jared?" she shouted. "No! Don't you dare die on me!" She shook him. "Jared, please!" She did the Heimlich on him because it was all she could do in the current situation, driving her linked fists as hard as she could.

He came back with a gasp, shouting in agony as she shifted his broken ribs.

"What…happened?" he spluttered, shaking his head.

Breathing a sigh of relief, she kissed the side of his neck. "You passed out."

"Sorry," he grunted, turning his head to look at her. "Won't do…it again."

"How is the wrist, Adonis?"

He smiled slightly. "Been…a while…since you called…me that," he rasped. "It hurts."

"Where's that extra flare?"

"Flak vest."

"Can you tread until I get it up here again?"

He nodded. She let go of him, shivering as the warm cocoon of water fell away when she moved. Taking a deep breath, she dove with her eyes open, searching for the vest and finally finding it. She dug around in the pocket for a moment before coming out with the unused flare, about the length of her forearm. She glanced around and found her jacket, cutting the sleeve off with her knife before pushing off for the surface.

"You okay?"

"Fine," he mumbled in response.

She swam back over to him. "I got something to set your arm with, but it's going to hurt like a bitch," she warned.

He just nodded tiredly, his eyelids drooping.

Hating herself for causing him more pain, she grabbed his hand to observe the wrist. There was a piece of bone sticking out, probably from one of the bones in the lower arm. Thank god, his actual wrist hadn't been broken. She steeled herself and looked into his pain-fogged eyes. "It will make it feel better," she promised. And then she yanked his wrist, pulling the bone back through the skin even as he screamed in pain. Before he could thrash, she set the flare against his hand, resting it in his palm and wrapping the fabric quickly up his arm, securing the rod to his arm to prevent him from moving it.

"I'm getting numb," he mumbled, looking at her.

Paige swam up behind him and slipped her arms around his broad chest. "I know," she said, forcing herself not to shiver. "Me, too."

"Hey, Paige?"

"Yeah?"

"You…you know I l-love you, r-right?" he gasped, shivering in the cold.

"Love you too, Jare," she replied, pressing her cheek against his neck.

"I-I don't want to d-die in here."

"Then don't."

"My back f-feels…funny and…my w-wrist…is busted. I've g-got…at least…three b-broken ribs…" he broke off to cough before continuing, "…and m-my head…is t-throbbing…concussion."

She just held on to him. It was all she could do. She had excelled in biology and physio-anatomy in school, she knew how body systems worked. She could see the faint red tinge in the water around both of them and knew that they were slowly losing blood. That, coupled with the cold water lowering their body temperature and severity of their injuries, was sending them into shock. If they didn't get to a hospital in two and a half or three hours at the very latest, they were in trouble. Their bodies would raise their temperatures to try and keep them warm, but the cold water would just lower it again. Eventually, their outer extremities (hands, feet, arms, and legs) would get cold while the body sucked all the warmth towards the core in an effort to stay alive. And when that failed, they were dead. Not to mention that if either of them passed out, they would not only drown, but probably die of multiple concussions.

"P-pretty stars," he gasped, staring up at the dark top of the water tower. And then his body went limp, his head dropping onto her shoulder, his forehead tucked under her ear. She increased her treading water speed to compensate for his dead weight.

Paige closed her eyes and said a quick prayer. She thought back to when she was studying the human body. _Signs of a concussion: headaches, blurry vision, seeing stars, lightheaded, nausea or vomiting, unable to do simple motor skills, memory loss, difficulty concentrating or thinking, light sensitivity, slurred speech or saying things that don't make sense, mood swings…_

"Just hold on, Jared," she whispered in his ear. "Hold on. Don't you give up on me."

The flare died out below them. Had it really been two hours already? It didn't feel like it.

"God," she said aloud, staring upwards. "We've g-given so much. Please. Don't l-let us d-die like this. P-please, send us h-help."

She was starting to get dizzy, and clung to Jared with her remaining strength. She could feel his breathing slowing from its normal rhythm. Damn it, he was dying on her, and there was nothing she could do about it. At the same time, though, she was shivering harder and finding it more and more difficult to draw a deep breath.

They were running out of time.

_Hold on, baby girl! _Chris' voice said suddenly, startling her in the silence of their prison broken only by her ragged breathing.

And then she heard it, far away – maybe she was crazy, but it sounded real. It sounded like the rescue cavalry coming for them. It was the sound of freedom, the sound of rescue, the sound of hope.

_Helicopter routers._

* * *

Be kind! **PLEASE REVIEW**!


	15. Chapter 15

Author's Note: Update! Yay! I've been typing like a possessed person all day to get it all outa my head. Forgive any spelling/grammar mistakes, I always catch them each time I re-read through. Anyway, enjoy!

Disclaimer: Don't own a thing except for my OC's.

* * *

Dean was frantic, his heart beating in his chest so rapidly that the only sound he could hear was the roaring of the blood pounding past his ears. Goddamn werewolves that could control their phasing. It was a complete and utter nightmare. And when he got his hands on his dad, he was going to break his neck for not wasting them all when he had the chance.

They'd taken his wife.

Two helicopters circled overhead. All the pilots had night vision on and were aiding the search from the air, their infrared scanners searching for any body heat not belonging to their men on the ground. Whoever had his wife and Jared couldn't have gone far, it hadn't been very long.

Danger was real to Dean, in fact, it was pretty much the story of his life. Didn't mean he had to like it.

"We're takin' you straight to the house," Noah said, looking over his shoulder. They were all riding in a Humvee that was a part of a thirty-eight truck convoy headed towards the Newbern lands. A fifteen year old kid named Cody Jackson was driving with a shotgun balanced on his lap, just in case, night vision strapped to his face. Noah was sitting beside him in the passenger seat with a M110 sniper rifle complete with night vision scope cradled in his arms like a small child. He had it pointed out the window and his body rotated so that it rested on his knee and against his shoulder.

Dean nodded, gripping his MSG3 sniper rifle tighter. He wanted to bash these monsters faces in for taking his wife. Goddamn assholes. He would kill them all.

"I feel naked," Sam announced with a slight smile. "You all have badass rifles and I'll I've got is a shotgun."

Michael glanced over his shoulder at him. "A shotgun is badass, dude," he pointed out with a grin before turning back around to gaze through the scope of his M24, studying the land and painstakingly searching for any movement whatsoever besides the cows.

"Yeah, but it's not a sniper rifle," he replied, shifting in his seat. He wasn't exactly comfortable smashed between Michael and Dean, as the gunner was taking up the room in front of him.

"Hopefully, you won't need it," Dean said without looking at him. He was too busy looking through his scope. "Besides, you're better short range, anyway."

Sam snorted indignantly. "Yeah, right," he scoffed.

Dean gave him a level look. "I'm the gun guy, dude. You're the book smart, good-with-pointy-stuff guy."

He didn't reply to Dean's jab, because the convoy turned onto the drive to Red Hill Ranch and proceeded slowly down the road in two single-file lines. The way it split off, their Humvee was at the head of the second column.

Everyone got out, securing their gear as they did so.

"Helmet," Dean hissed, holding one out.

Sam reluctantly put it on his head, feeling ridiculous. It was beyond weird to see his brother dressed up full-on-military. He was used to leather-jacket-biker-boot Dean, not soldier Dean.

"The camo breaks up the outline of your body better, smart one. Leather jacket and jeans, not so much," Dean whispered as if reading his mind. He tapped his helmet. "A lot of 'em are good marksmen. It's just a precaution. I know it's dumb, but just do it."

"Fine," he mumbled.

"You know military hand signals?" Michael hissed.

Sam nodded.

"Good," he replied. "Follow me."

Michael took point, followed by Dean, Sam, and Noah in the rear. They moved cautiously forward to the end of the fence line, where the rest of the Humvees signaled all clear. They sprinted all out towards the house, pausing on the porch to cover the man behind them until all were secure. Dean smacked Michael's helmet and the FBI Agent opened the door and ducked away as Dean went in, sidearm up and ready.

"Clear right," he said softly.

"Clear left," Noah announced from behind Sam.

"There's no one in here," Sam said pointedly. "They'd be stupid to wait here."

Dean led the way through the house as they periodically checked every room for activity. There was nothing. Finally, they made it to the stairs and crept up them absolutely silently, not making the slightest noise. The master bedroom was a set of double doors on the left-hand side, the first room on the left side of the hallway.

Noah waited for them to line up behind him. When they were ready Dean nudged his shoulder, and again, the Agent pied around the corner and into the room, checking left and right, and finding nothing. "Clear," he mouthed, putting a finger over his lips to signal silence.

He looked at Dean, and Dean pointed to the closet door, indicating the safe room was in there.

Michael gripped the door handle and turned it when Noah nodded, throwing the door open and jumping back and away for protection.

Bright eyes shone in the darkness. Dean and Noah emptied three shots each into the owner of said eyes before Sam could even squeeze the trigger. Dean cautiously entered the room and flicked the light on, revealing the hulking mass of the dead and transformed wolf on the floor. Sam stared at in in a sort of detatched fascination, realising that it was weird looking, even as it slowly shook and twisted, forming back into a dark-haired man. All he could think was _eew_.

"Yuck," Noah scowled, kicking it. Sam couldn't agree more. "I hate these things. What was it doing?"

"Sniffing," Dean replied. "It was standing right in front of the safe door."

"What door? It's just a wall," Noah replied, tucking his sidearm back into his Hollister.

Dean reached up and pulled a drawstring on a light bulb hanging in the center of the ceiling. He paused for a few seconds, mouthing something silently, and then pulled it twice more. To everyone's amazement, a little circle appeared in the wall that Dean promptly stuck his thumb on. There was a soft beep, and he removed his hand as the wall just…slid into itself.

"Whoa," Sam breathed as a safe door was revealed. "High tech much?"

"Brad's friends are a bit tech-savvy," Dean said with a shrug. There was a keypad in the door and he punched in ten digits too fast for anyone to catch. A green light appeared at the top of the door, and he grasped and turned the handle. "Ready?"

"Yeah," Sam replied, lifting his shotgun.

Dean pushed the door in and let Sam enter first.

"Ally?" Sam called. "Are you there?"

Sam peered into the infrared glow, searching for anyone. There was a strange shape against the far wall. The shift of movement was the only warning he got. "DOWN!" He swiftly hit the deck as a shotgun round blasted the wall where his head had just been. "Hit the lights!" he yelled, and they immediately switched on. Sam looked up to see Ally shielding both little boys with her body, her stance firm as the held the shotgun. Both of the boys were crying and covering their ears.

He stood. "Ally," he said quietly, putting his gun on a shelf and holding both his hands out. "It's okay. It's me. It's Sam."

Ally's hands were shaking. Her lip started to wobble. "I was so scared," she whimpered.

"I know, baby," Sam said gently, moving towards her as slowly as possible, carefully prying the weapon from her hands and tossing it to Noah, who caught it and set it on the floor. He wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on the top of her head. "You're safe now. It's okay." Levi was wailing and has both hands fisted over his ears, confused by the sudden bright lights and gunshot rounds. He reached down and pulled the boy into his free arm, holding him close, his heart melting when the little boy sobbed against his chest. Both him and Ally shielded their boy and soothed his tears.

Dean pushed past his brother and went weak with relief when he saw his son on the cot. "Sammy," he said. His son looked up at him and promptly burst into tears. He scooped him up and held him close. "Shh, baby boy, it's okay, Daddy's here. Stop those tears, now."

Sammy clutched at his shirt and continued crying, the tears running in streaks down his cheeks. His fear was heartbreaking. Dean just hugged him and rubbed his back.

As much as he loved his boy, there were more pressing issues at hand. He turned back towards his brother, hating himself for breaking up their tender family moment as Sam wiped the tears from Levi's cheeks. "Ally," he said urgently, gripping her arm. "Where is she? Where's my wife?"

"She left," Ally said with a slight hiccup. "I'm so sorry, Dean. I tried. I tried to make her stay. But she said if she didn't go, we would all die. I'm sorry. So, so sorry." Tears rolled down her cheeks.

Dean kissed the top of his son's downy head. "Sammy, you stay with Uncle Sam and Auntie Ally, okay?" he said, prying his son's hands from his shirt and handing him over to his brother. "I'll be back soon." He looked at Sam. "Sam, protect him. Please."

"I will," Sam promised, nodding understanding. This was something Dean had to do.

"Daddy!" Sammy screamed as he turned, sobbing in earnest as he stretched his arms forward, straining towards him over Sam's shoulder. "Daddy! No! Daddy, stay!"

Walking away was the hardest thing he'd ever done in his life, but Dean forced himself to turn his back. He grabbed a rocket launcher and slung it over his shoulder, walking out of the safe even as his son screamed for him. "God, I'm so sorry, Sammy," he said, covering his eyes with his hand.

Michael squeezed his shoulder. "Come on, let's go," he said, leading him out of the house and away from the dead werewolf.

* * *

Dean couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Couldn't focus. Images whirled over and over in his head, swirling behind his eyes, cementing terror in his heart. They had to find her. Damn it, he couldn't lose her. Not her. Anyone but her. She'd promised him forever, damn it. She wasn't allowed to die on him, not like this. He sat in the back of the Humvee and focused on breathing, in and out, in and out…the force had fanned out on their assigned vectors and were searching for any sign of Paige and Jared. They would find her, they had to. Didn't they? God, he was going to go insane thinking about this. Suddenly his father's insanity after his mom's death made a hell of a lot more sense.

The radio squawked. _"Romeo 11, this is Lima 64, come in, over."_

"Who?" Dean asked, leaning forward.

"One of the scout sniper teams we sent out," Noah explained, looking at the radio as Michael grabbed the mike.

"Lima 64, this is Romeo 11. Go ahead," Michael said into the mike.

"_We're about twenty yards from the edge of the border between the Newbern and Knox ranch. We may have something here, sir. There's blood in the dirt, signs of a struggle."_

"Copy that, Lima 64. ETA seven minutes. Romeo 11, out." Michael pressed his fist to his forehead and took a deep breath, looking back at Dean and his blank expression. He pressed the button. "All units, this is Romeo 11. Be advised, one of them has been taken hostage, over."

The car was silent after that. The three men and the kid were tense as they neared the location the scouts had specified.

"Destination spotted," Noah said, lifting his hand. "About ten more yards in front of us."

Dean's hand was on the handle before the car had even stopped. He ran and crouched next to the snipers, studying the ground. "What's the verdict, guys?"

"Blood on the plants," the one closer to him – Delta sniper Jack Lennox – said emotionlessly, pointing. "There's scuff marks in the dirt and a bit of rope over there. It looks like they maybe snuck up on her and knocked her out. From the impressions, they dragged her north."

His heart sank at the mention of blood. Michael and Noah came up beside him, and Jay repeated his report. "Do you know for sure?" he stressed.

Jay held up a branch for them to see. "The darker spot is blood," he confirmed.

"Shit," Michael growled, pounding a fist into his thigh.

Jay's partner Tom Spalding appeared literally out of nowhere. "Hey, just found this," he announced, holding a rifle in his hands carefully, unwilling to disturb it.

Dean grabbed it and studied it carefully with the aid of night-vision goggles Tom handed him. "This is hers," he confirmed, his heart sinking further as his blood turned to ice. He looked at Michael. "They've got her, Mikey."

"_Romeo 11, this is Romeo 44, come in_," the radio squawked.

Michael sighed. "Romeo 44, this is Romeo 11. Go ahead, over."

"_We've got movement on the northern border, over."_

"Roger that, Romeo 44. Keep me posted."

"_Yes, sir. You should..." _There was a pause filled with static for a long ten seconds. _"Holy shit! Get that fifty up!" _the speaker shouted suddenly as there was a loud explosion. Then there was only static.

"Romeo 44, this is Romeo 11," Michael said urgently into the mouthpiece. "Everyone, back to the Humvee, even you two," he ordered, pointing at the snipers who obeyed his order without question. They all ran back to the truck. Lennox jumped up on the fifty and loaded it with an ominous _click-click_. Cody Jackson goaded the Humvee into movement, sending them roaring over the hills and towards the action while Michael continued to attempt radio contact.

"Romeo 44, if you can hear me, come in, damn it!" he shouted in frustration. "Drive faster," he ordered Cody. The kid stomped on the gas in response.

"_Romeo 11, taking heavy fire, over! Need backup!"_

"_Romeo 44, this is Romeo 60, we're inbound on your position, over."_

"_Romeo 44, Romeo 17 is on the way. Hold in there, boys."_

This continued until every Humvee had reported it was inbound for support.

"Romeo 44, this is Romeo 11. ETA one minute," Michael said into the mike. "Super-64, come in."

"_This is Super-64. Go ahead, Romeo 11," _Elliot's voice said over the radio.

"Hit the ground with the lights as soon as the fighting starts. It'll help us pinpoint enemy positions," he ordered. "Danger close, El, so be careful. You and Super-68, enter your holding patterns."

"_Roger, Romeo 11. Super-64 entering holding pattern."_

"_Super-68 entering holding pattern," _Josh replied.

Michael heard them pass by overhead as they topped a hill. He could only stare for a moment. Romeo 11 – "Romeo" was the designation for Humvees this mission, while "Lima" was the scouts and "Super" was the birds – was engaged in battle with something he couldn't quite see, its fifty lighting up the space around it as the guys fired from cover behind the vehicle body, shooting their rifles over the hood.

"Get down there and help them!" Michael ordered. He picked up the radio again. "Super-64, Super-68, light 'em up!"

"_Gladly. Super-64 rippin' 'em a new one_," Elliot replied, dropping military pretense. Four bright beams suddenly shone down from above, zeroing in on the enemies the Humvee below them was engaged in battle with. The miniguns opened up moments later, knocking several of the advancing enemy over as bullets tore into their bodies.

The Humvees had formed a kind of diagonal line, the men using the cars as cover or lying flat on their stomachs, shooting at the enemy. There were men swarming every which way and wolves as well, snapping a howling as silver bullets tore through their bodies.

Dean took a deep breath and sighted a guy with a machete headed for Michael's guys, who were working their way across the field towards the stranded Humvee. He didn't hesitate, just pulled the trigger. The guy's head literally exploded from the shot, and he dropped like a stone. Some of the Humvees pushed forward to make a perimeter around the stranded vehicle blow, and the whole time firing didn't cease.

He noticed the wolf charging him a second too late. All he had time to do was draw his silver-bladed knife as it tackled him straight to the ground, slamming into him with force enough to leave him breathless and send his rifle flying out of his reach. In one swift, hard movement he stabbed the knife into its upper jaw, shoving its now-limp body off of him and rolling to his feet.

"You okay?" Cody yelled at him.

"Fine," he yelled back, scrambling to his feet and to his rifle. The kid was too busy looking at him to pay attention, because when he turned around, a wolf was running right for him. "CODY, LOOK OUT!"

Dean honestly had no idea how he moved so fast. All he knew was he was suddenly tackling the kid to the ground as a wolf leapt through the space he'd just been standing, slamming into the ground on the other side and rolling back to its feet with an angry growl. He yanked his sidearm free and slammed a magazine home as he rolled off the kid and fired two shots into the wolf's head and one into the chest, just to be sure. It died twitching at his feet.

"You okay?" he yelled at the kid.

"Yeah," Cody yelled back. They stood shoulder-to-shoulder, sniping enemies below them. Picking targets was tricky, because at this point it was mostly close-range fighting and too risky, as they didn't want to hit their own guys. They did what they could to provide cover, but it was irritating, because right when they had a shot one of their guys would get in the way and they'd have to move on to another.

The miniguns mounted on the Blackhawk above suddenly opened up on the other side of the field, mowing down the enemies pouring over the hills, some in wolf form, others armed with weapons.

Jesus Christ, he'd never even considered there would be this _many_ of them.

"_All teams, this is Super-64," _Elliot said over the radio. _"They're falling back to the north. A large number of them are headed for Jared's water tower. Some are already climbing the structure."_

"Water tower?" Cody repeated with wide eyes. "That's on the northern edge of Jared's land, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Dean replied, jumping in the driver's seat. "Get on the fifty."

Cody set his rifle in the back of the truck and did as Dean had asked, tightly gripping the handles and levering himself into position. "Mike," Dean shouted into the speaker. "They might be in there!"

"_I know, Dean. All units, push forward and be careful, they may try to come around and hit us on the flanks. Push forward to the water tower. Snipers try and keep them from climbing it. El, Josh, if you have to open fire, _avoid _hitting the tower at all costs. Hostages may be inside."_

"_We hear you, Mike. Hurry. They're still climbing."_

Michael and Noah jumped in as Dean drove by.

"Go, go, go!" they yelled in unison, continuing to fire out the window. Dean was only too happy to obey and forced the car forward, shooting down the hill like a rocket and bouncing roughly around at the end before setting off at high speed through the bumpy fields, swerving around cows until they made it to the dirt road that ran through Jared's land.

The water tower was up ahead. Both helicopters were circling it, keeping the beams trained on the tower from a safe distance while RPGs whistled through the air and exploded, bright flashes in the sky.

"Holy shit," Noah commented. "There must be thirty of them climbing up that tower!"

"Not as long as the snipers keep picking them off, there aren't," Michael commented. As he spoke, four more half-dressed men fell like stones, slamming into the ground, only to be replaced by another who climbed up after them. Wolves darted towards the trucks with snapping jaws, their huge forms almost too quick to keep watch on, swerving wildly in and out of the bright headlights.

"Open fire!" Noah ordered. "Mow as many of 'em down as you can!"

In response, the miniguns fired, the dirt exploding as the bullets struck it.

Dean threw the door open, his heart pounding. It was pounding so hard it was the only thing that he could hear, sending his blood roaring in his ears. His entire focus, his entire being, was zeroed in on that water tower.

"Dean! Dean, stop!" Michael roared as he, too, jumped out of the car. "God DAMN it! Noah, cover him!"

"Aye, aye," Noah grumbled, doing just that.

He sprinted all out across that field, darting around confused men and wolves, his arms pumping so hard they were blurs. His rifle was gone, lost somewhere, he didn't know where, all he knew was that he had to get to that tower as fast as he possibly could. The exploding dirt pelted him from both sides as he sprinted as fast as he possibly could. He didn't even know for sure if she was in there, he just felt a sense of urgency, like he was running out of time. With a slight grunt, he leapt onto the ladder, pulling himself up hand over hand, running up the ladder towards the walkway that circled the structure high above. The ladder shook, and he briefly glanced down to see Michael right behind him.

The men climbing beside him looked surprised to see him there, before they yelled in sudden pain and fell to their deaths, picked off like flies from the snipers in the helicopters. He continued climbing, ignoring all else but the fierce urge to reach that damn platform. He reached said platform so fast he surprised himself.

There was only a single door. He leapt over the dead bodies dripping blood downward, his hands closing around the rusted wheel and pulling with all his strength. It wouldn't turn, wouldn't budge.

"Come on," he growled angrily, pulling harder, his muscles burning from the strain. "Give, damn it! Give!"

Michael was suddenly there, pushing Dean's hands slightly aside to give himself room. "Pull," he grunted, setting one foot against the railing and yanking with all his might.

Dean pulled with him, his shoulders screaming in protest, until finally, blessedly, the metal screeched loudly and turned. This goaded the two men on as they pulled as hard as they could, until they were spinning the wheel.

"On three," Michael said, putting one leg up to brace himself.

Dean did the same, nodding at Michael to go ahead.

"Ok, three, two, one," he counted, and with a strangled yell, he and Dean heaved the door open with a metallic groan of protest.

It was dark inside, the water rippling from the activity below, the only real light from the helicopters shining lights from above. "Paige!" he yelled, staring into the din for a split second. He prepared to jump in when he felt a hand on the back of his jacket – it was Michael, holding him back as he turned on his flashlight, wanting to make sure it wasn't a trap. The light shone all the way through the water, lighting on something at the bottom.

It took both of them a minute to realize that it was a knife, glinting silver on the bottom of the water tank. A white hand flashed, and then Dean was half in the water, lunging for it and holding on. He pulled the person forward, and a chest mottled with cuts and bruises came into view, and then, finally, Jared's battered and cut up face, black and blue with blood seeping from his nose.

"I'm here, Jared," Dean told him, pulling him forward further. He grabbed his friend around the chest and pulled him closer to leverage him out of the water. He slapped his face a few times before noticing how blue he was. Michael was shouting into his radio as he stood over Jared.

"Paige!" Dean shouted, and without pause, he tried to dive into the water, still held back by Michael's hand. He fought it for a moment, searching frantically for any sign of movement. "Baby, where are you? Paige!"

Michael shone the light, and it hit her face. Dean jumped into the cold water and grabbed her, relief flooding through him. "Mike! Help me out here!" he yelled. He grasped his friend's hand as both of them were hauled out of the water. There were more men on the walkway with them, but he didn't notice or care. Time seemed to slow as he stared in horror at the limp body in his arms. His breath hitched, and he realized that his eyes were stinging as his cheeks were wet.

Paige's skin was tinged faintly blue, and her lips and eyelids were almost fully blue. She was trembling violently in his arms, shaking his frame. All she had on was her shirt, underwear, and long socks. Purple-black bruises mottled her arms and legs, and angry red lines showed where she had been burned with something resembling a cattle prod. When he pulled her closer to look at her back, he felt like puking at the sight of her broken, swollen red skin. His palms were tinged red when he pulled them away, and his hands started to shake as the shock hit him full-on. Her left shoulder and wrist was enflamed and the left side of her collarbone was crooked-looking.

"Dean, you need to let go of her," Michael shouted at him.

Dean wasn't listening. He was too shocked, cradling his wife in his arms, wanting her to just open her eyes and look at him. Doc Schmidt was suddenly in his face, startling him. He remembered in some far corner of his mind that Schmidt was supposed to be on a helicopter or something.

"Warmth, Dean! She needs warmth!" the doctor was shouting.

Understanding that much, Dean pulled his shirts off and held her against him, wincing at the iciness of her skin. He and Michael frantically rubbed her arms and legs in an effort to give her warmth via friction to her frozen skin. "Come on, baby, open your eyes," he pleaded brokenly.

He was aware of shouting men working on Jared, and one man appeared literally out of nowhere, flying. Wait a minute, men couldn't fly. He stared in confusion for a mere second before realizing the man was in a harness attached to a cable which was attached to a helicopter. They strapped Jared to the harnessed man and lifted him up and away.

All of his attention was focused on his wife, tearless sobs of mingled relief and horror shaking his frame. Right then, her eyes fluttered open and she coughed raggedly, crying out in pain. "Hey," he greeted her on a choking laugh, carefully stroking her cheek. "Paige, can you hear me?"

"D-Dean?" Her voice was weak, but she was conscious enough to keep her eyes open and focused on him. She lifted her hand to touch his cheek with trembling fingers, her face expression confused, almost like she didn't believe he was there in the first place.

"You're safe, now," he told her. He looked up at the men. "Do something!" he roared angrily. "Anything!"

She made another pained noise when she moved slightly, her entire body going rigid with pain.

"I've got you, it's okay, you're safe," he chanted over and over, frantically rubbing her skin. "Mikey, do something!"

Michael looked as horrible as Dean did, his cheeks tear-streaked as he, too, rubbed warmth into his dying cousin. The medic on the deck leaned over Paige, doing god knows what, announcing that they were sending the harness down.

"Where does it hurt?" the medic shouted over the noise the routers of the hovering helicopters.

Fat tears rolled down her battered cheeks, pain fogging her eyes. "Everywhere," she whispered, gasping when her chest was jostled.

"I think she's got some broken ribs, but I don't know for sure," the medic shouted. He noticed that she was clutching at Dean. "I don't want to stress her, so I'm going to send you up with her, alright?"

Dean nodded.

"So tired," she mumbled.

"No!" he cried harshly, shaking her gently, relieved when her eyes fluttered open. "No, baby, stay awake. You've got to stay awake. Please."

She jumped slightly at the sudden heat enveloping her face, and when she opened her eyes she noticed his hands on either side of her face. He pulled her close again, holding her head against his chest, her cheek pressed against his hot skin; she was comforted by the sound of his frantic heartbeat beneath her ear.

"Don't you dare leave me," he said in her ear, his voice a husky rumble. "Don't you dare. You promised me forever."

That voice was her only anchor to reality. She couldn't understand words anymore, couldn't pick out voices over the din of helicopters and shouting and gunfire going on below. Her vision was fading fast, and then she was floating on a cloud, feeling safe and secure and somewhat warmer than she had been before. But she fought to keep her eyes open, because he had asked.

"We're losing her!" Michael shouted angrily, looking at the medic.

"Doc!" Dean roared as gunfire pinged beside his head. "Doc, she stopped shaking!" He desperately continued to try and rub warmth into her limp body. He tried to ignore the terror building within him as she continued to turn blue. "Please, please, don't leave me," he pleaded with her.

"Dean, the harness!" the doctor shouted over the noise, grabbing it. he helped to strap Dean into it – awkward work with Paige in Dean's arms – and then helped to fasten Paige to it as well, securing the straps into place and making sure they were nice and secure.

"The crewman will control the cable," he explained, pointing up the helicopter hovering above them. "We'll cover you as best we can. Keep her pressed against your chest. When you lift off, keep your knees under her armpits and hold her steady. Do you understand?"

Dean nodded.

"Alright, here we go," the doctor said, holding up his index finger towards the bird and moving it in a circle. The slack on the cable started to lessen. "Hold on to her!" he reminded Dean as the slack ended.

The slight yank startled Dean, and then his feet left the stability of the service walk to be replaced by open air. He locked his knees under her armpits like the doc had ordered, clasping her to him protectively as gunfire erupted with gusto beneath him. They were swaying precariously back and forth before steadying, and he looked up towards the helicopter to see the crewman leaning out the door to stable the cable with his hand. He then glanced down, and only then did he realize how high they were.

Strong wind buffeted him, chilling his bare chest and making him shiver slightly. They were nearly at the door now. The crewman crouched at the edge and grabbed the harness, pulling them towards the open door. Paige's lifeless form went in first, and Dean's knees hit the metal next. The other medic aboard unclipped them both and immediately set to work on the struggle to keep her alive. The door shut behind him, and Dean slumped against the freezing metal, numb with relief that she was finally getting help.

Elliot looked over his shoulder, his eyes locked with Dean's as he spoke into the microphone clipped to his helmet, the speaker in front of his mouth. "Tower, this is Super-64," he said briskly as one of the medics tossed a blanket in Dean's general direction. "Inform hospital that we're inbound on Vector 20 and will land on the roof, over."

There was a slight pause, followed by Elliot's, "ETA three minutes."

Dean grabbed his wife's hand, powerless to do anything else. He hoped beyond hope that that one little contact would anchor her to this world, to him. They had hooked her up to an IV and heart monitor by this point and were struggling to save her, shouting medical mumbo-jumbo at each other that he didn't understand. The bird was descending, and he realized with a start that they were at the hospital already. It hadn't seemed like a long ride at all.

The bird flared slightly and settled on the deck right as the electronic alarm started blaring loudly.

"We're losing her!" one of the medics yelled as the helicopter door opened to reveal a gurney with medical staff on standby, the other helicopter taking off from the other side of the roof, Jared's lifeless form disappearing into the building on a gurney. Dean jumped down, refusing to let go of his wife's hand as they switched her from stretcher to gurney, an oxygen mask over her face.

"What've we got?" one of the doctors shouted – Dean recognized James Hunt, having known him since he moved here – as they wheeled her at a jog towards the hospital. Dean was slightly relieved. Hunt had been a trauma surgeon in the Marines, and was damn good at what he did.

"Paige Winchester, age twenty-five, two months pregnant. Missing for eight hours and found in a water tank. She's severely hypothermic and badly wounded in several places. Her BP is dropping. She's lost a lot of blood and may possibly have internal bleeding."

"Alright, get her into OR one, now! Get every trauma surgeon available and a neurosurgeon, she might have head injuries. Get me an OBGYN, preferably Doctor Newbern if she's not in surgery…"

The surgeon's voice faded as Dean started to shut down. He leaned down and kissed his wife on the forehead. His chest felt funny and he was so tired. The machine was droning a flat line, and then nurses were shoving him back even as he fought them. He released numbly that he wasn't supposed to go near the ORs, but fought anyway. And then strong arms held him and pulled him back, constricting airflow to his chest, even as he screamed and sobbed and fought against them to reach his dying wife, being wheeled away down the corridor with an army of nurses and surgeons running alongside.

"Easy, Dean," Michael murmured in his ear.

Dean collapsed, his legs no longer able to hold him upright, falling back against his friend as sobs racked his body. "She was flat lining, Mikey," he moaned in agony.

"I know, man. I know," Michael replied, tears streaking down his face as his knees gave out as well, leaving him on the floor with his back braced against the wall holding one of his best friends in his arms, personally watching while Dean Winchester's life came crumbling down around his ears.

Michael knew one thing for certain about Dean Winchester, and it was that his hopes and dreams had melted away with the sound of that droning flat line.

* * *

*ducks* I'm sorry for all the cliffhangers, peeps, but it kinda just falls that way when I write it. I'm almost done with chapter sixteen, promise! *runs away* On the bright side, Jared and Paige are safe from the wolves, at least...

Be kind! **PLEASE REVIEW**!  
I absolutely love hearing any positive/negative opinions on this.


	16. Chapter 16

Author's Note: *gasp* A fast update! Huzzah! And now, without further ado, the fate of Paige Winchester and Jared Knox. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Only own my OCs, people…unfortunately. I'd love to own Dean, but alas….Kripke gets credit for that one.

* * *

_Paige has just been found. Meanwhile on the ground at Red Hill Ranch, the battle rages below the recue party on the water tower…_

"Grenade!" Noah roared, as Lennox tackled Cody down behind the Humvee. He didn't have to think, didn't have to consider – he just did what he'd learned in Special Operations training.

He dove on it.

It went off with a deafening bang, the concussion whamming into his chest with incredible force, the flash blinding him as the blast sent him flying backwards. He slammed into the side of the Humvee, his head connecting with the rigid metal, before bouncing off the unrelenting surface and landing on his left side in the dirt with a disoriented groan.

He cussed inwardly. _Fucking flash bang, god damn it! _He was completely disoriented, deafened by the loud ringing in his ears, his world tipping this way and that as he struggled to pull himself upright while his vision swirled in some sick interpretation of water in a toilet bowl.

Hands gripped his shoulders and pulled him upright into a partial sitting position, shaking him roughly by his bullet proof vest. He squinted up into Lennox's face, watching his mouth move but unable to hear any noise over the ringing. Lennox looked pissed to high-hell. He managed to lift his arm over the smaller man's neck, and Lennox pulled him up, half-dragging him to safety behind the Humvee.

Sound was returning – partly. The five guys he'd been fighting alongside for the last three hours, Cody Jackson, Jack Lennox, Tom Spalding, Jay Rawlings, and Elliot's Deputy Greg Wilson, were all staring at him like he was nuts. Well, maybe not Lennox and Spalding. But the rest of them were.

"Can you hear me now?" Lennox shouted over the sound of the battle raging around them. He was grinning, his eyes sparkling with a crazy light only special ops guys had.

Noah nodded and flashed him a heads-up.

Jay shook his head. "You goddamn crazy sonovabitch," he said in disbelief. "Diving on a grenade. Are you insane?"

"It's a special ops thing," Noah admitted, shaking his head a few times as his vision stabilized slightly. "Where's my rifle?"

"Here, sir," Cody said, handing it to him.

"Can you stand?" Lennox said, crouching in front of him.

"I'm gonna go with negative on that one," Noah quipped with a slight smile. His chest hurt like a mother-effing bitch, and yeah, drawing a deep breath? If his chest could talk, it would probably laugh and say, '_Deep breath, ha! Forget it!'_ So not gonna happen anytime soon. "Just put me somewhere. I'll provide sniper cover."

The sniper didn't budge. "How's the chest?"

"Bruised, mighta fractured a rib, but I'm fine pretty boy. Set me up someplace I can shoot, come on," he wheezed, flapping his hand in demonstration.

Lennox didn't argue, just grabbed him in a fireman's carry and moved him to a better location. "You've got cover here surrounded by all of us. Good shooting." He moved to slap the top of the FBI Agent's head before he realized he didn't have a helmet on, so he slapped his shoulder instead. "We'll be just over there. You've got a radio. Holler if you get into trouble."

The fight raged on for an immesurable amount of time after that. He was through a whole clip before a helicopter flared.

"What's that copter doing?" Noah roared, pointing.

"They've got Paige and Jared. Can't get 'em down so they have to airlift them," Lennox shouted back.

Noah nodded, and then cursed as he remembered something critical. He'd lost sight of Mike in the din. God damn it, he was supposed to cover him. Forgetting about his job to cover everyone else, he systematically searched the battle for any sign of his partner, relieved when he finally found him on the top of the water tower with Dean and a few medics, leaning over objects he couldn't see but what he assumed was Paige and Jared. His theory was confirmed when a medic was lowered from the helicopter to the walkway and rose again after a few minutes with an extremely pale male figure clutched tightly to him. The second helicopter had lowered a harness that Dean and Paige were now strapped to, swaying wildly back and forth before somewhat steadying. The first helicopter, with Jared, closed the doors and sped off, followed not a minute later by the second helicopter holding Dean and Paige. Both the birds clicked their lights off and disappeared into the night, the sound of their routers fading, even as the battle around him raged on.

There was a man running across the field towards the tower. He shot him twice, once in both legs, and got supreme satisfaction with watching him fall. He was slightly startled, however, when a wolf leapt out of nowhere and quite literally bit the guys' head off.

As if on cue, every single wolf, transformed or human, paused their actions to turn and stare. And then, to every hunter's astonishment, the wolves formed back into men, and every single damn one of them put their hands up. He noticed with a slight shiver that all of their eyes glowed silver in the light shining from flashlights or headlights.

Noah dragged himself to his feet. "Lennox, support me," he ordered. The sniper slung his arm over his shoulder and they ran together towards the surrendering wolves, who were laying their weapons down and stepping away from them. The wolf that had bitten the dude's head off earlier was standing over his dead body completely naked and not the least bit worried about that fact, apparently.

"Do you speak for these men, here?" the guy asked in a deep voice. He was tall, about six-four, with brownish-blackish hair and intelligent hazel eyes. All the same, the kid didn't look more than eighteen.

"Take it away, Noah," Lennox murmured, keeping his weapon trained on the kid as the Humvees closed in, led by the guys on foot, who kept their weapons trained on every surrendering wolf as they did so.

"I'm an FBI Agent," Noah admitted. Not exactly necessary, as his vest boldly displayed the fact, but he figured the kid was being straightforward so he'd return the favor. "Who the hell are you?"

"My name is Kyle. This was our old pack leader, Adrian," he explained, pointing to the decapitated body at his feet. "Adrian killed my father, Lucas. Our pack has one rule that outweighs all the others, and he broke it, just as his father Joseph, pack leader before my father."

"And what rule would that be?" Noah inquired, lowering his weapon. His arm was getting tired and his ribs were currently throbbing.

"Never attack humans," Kyle said.

Normally, Noah would scoff something along the lines of "Yeah, right". But this kid was dead serious. He'd been in enough interrogation rooms to know when someone was lying or not. "And he…broke the rule?"

Kyle nodded. "He dragged my pack against their will down here, in revenge against the one who killed his father. John Winchester. John killed his father many years ago, when Joseph went on a killing spree in a local town, killing eight before the hunter stopped him. He did this pack a favor. My father took over, but Adrian always fancied himself ruler. He has been consumed by hate for hunters ever since."

"You know about us?" Lennox asked coldly, deciding to speak up.

The kid smiled. "We all know of you. You hunt things. We are things. Believe me, we understand completely. But we try to stay out of your way, mind our own business, live our lives. Just because we are shape shifters doesn't mean we are evil. And we are not the type of shapeshifters you are used to, I'd imagine. For us, we have been cursed with a gene or a bite mark. There is no opting out. When a man is bitten, he does not show signs until the first full moon. Sometimes that can mean months. In those months, he can make a child with his wife. That child, like me, is cursed with this life. I don't want it any more than you do. But we make do with what we have. We are social outcasts, we bind together to survive. But we are not like other shapeshifters. We cannot change into whomever we please, and we do not shed skin. The vast majority of us are not evil."

"Every shape shifter I've ever met has been," Lennox said emotionlessly.

"What is that saying? 'It's the five percent of society that ruins it us for the rest of us'?" Kyle shrugged. "My father led a peaceful pack, and his father, before him. My grandfather was killed by Joseph and my father ran to escape being killed. It may seem barbaric to you, but the pack leader only becomes so by killing the former pack leader, or when the previous leader dies."

"Its how it is in a real wolf pack," Noah said absently. "The male who wishes to be leader kills the one who is the leader at the time and takes over. Same with lions, too. And they usually kill all the previous male's young."

Kyle nodded. "Adrian killed my father about two months ago. Killed all eight of my siblings. I'm the youngest. He was a little blinded by his obsession with John Winchester to get around to killing me. So I did it first."

"Can we cut the chit-chat and finish the job already?" someone grumbled from the line behind them.

"I won't stop you," Kyle said sadly. "We don't stand a chance against your bigger guns and your silver bullets. Adrian already killed half of my pack because he insisted on attacking this place."

Every face registered surprise.

"I only ask you to remember this: before Joseph killed that family fifteen or so years ago, had you ever heard of us?"

Jay Rawlings scratched his head. "My daddy never mentioned a thing about y'all," he admitted. "And I know every damn story and legend in this here state."

"We are not in the business of killing men, sir," the kid said quietly. "Please. Let us leave. We will never return. That much I can swear to you."

"And we have to trust that?" Lennox spat.

"Everyone still alive are the men on my side, sir. They did not want to come here. They did not want to harm the woman or the child. I only ask that you let me take the bodies of my loyal men back to their families. You may salt and burn the rest."

"What is your full name?" Noah demanded, always the FBI Agent.

"Kyle Alexander Blackfoot, sir. If you have a piece of paper, I will write down my address and phone number. You can feel free to check up on us at any time. We live on the other side of the mountains, in an isolated little town called Blackfoot Falls." He held out his hand, and Noah handed him the material to write everything down, accepting it when the kid handed it over. He stuck out his hand and the agent shook it, smiling wryly.

"I'm Noah, by the way. Noah Claybourne. And my partner and I will be checking up on you frequently."

"I look forward to the visit, Agent Claybourne," Kyle replied, backing away. He whistled softly, and every man still standing there started backing away towards the mountains. Some grabbed bodies and slung them over their shoulders, stepping over others without a glance.

Kyle grabbed the foot of Adrian's corpse and dragged him backwards. "Oh, and Agent Claybourne, one more thing," he called out. He waited for everyone to look at him. "If John Winchester comes back, tell him he owes us a visit."

And then he disappeared into the night with the rest of his men.

"All of this for revenge," Jay stated, shaking his head. "Any critical injuries?"

"A few, sir," someone called out. "We're sending them to the hospital now!"

"Good," the older man sighed, scratching his head. "Any KIAs?"

"None," Lennox said, observing the field strewn with dead bodies. "We were extremely lucky."

"Yeah, this time," Noah muttered, staring off to the mountains. "God forbid if someone kills that Kyle kid, though, cuz It's gonna be this all over again."

"Touche," Jay said with a huge sigh. "Come on. Let's pile these fuckers, salt 'em, and burn 'em into dust, shall we?"

"Sounds like a party," Cody grumbled, shouldering his weapon as Michael came running up with Doc Schmidt.

"What the hell happened? Where'd they go?"

"We let them go, Mikey," Noah replied, holstering his weapon. He rolled his eyes at his partner's incredulous look. "Long story. I'll explain later."

"What the hell happened to you?" Michael demanded, peering at him, raking his eyes up and down Noah's gigantean frame. "You're short of breath."

"I'm fine."

"Noah, you can run ten miles and not be out of breath. Where are you hit?"

"He's not hit," Lennox drawled as he stared up at the sky, avoiding Noah's vicious glare. "The goddamn idiot dove on a flash bang grenade."

"You WHAT?!" Doc Schimidt and Michael exploded in unison.

"Thanks a lot, asshole." Lennox just grinned but didn't look at him, keeping his eyes on the stars. "It was just a flash bang," Noah said innocently with a sheepish grin.

The Doctor's nostril's flared. He was an average-sized man with brown hair and kind brown eyes, well known by the kids of the town as the nice doctor. Wasn't so nice now, though. The little Marine medic looked royally pissed, and despite his smaller size, Noah had no doubt he could kick his ass. He jabbed a finger at the Humvee that Noah and the rest of his guys had been fighting around all night. "In. Now," he ordered in a no-nonsense, don't-fuck-with-me tone of voice.

"Aye, aye, sir," Noah said, climbing into the back.

"Cody, drive," the doctor ordered. The kid did so without complaint, jumping in the driver's seat. Michael got into the back with Noah, and the doctor turned to Jay. "You okay with cleaning up this clusterfuck?"

"Yeah, Pete," Jay replied with a smile. "The boys here can get it. Go take care of Captain America, there. We'll all be along to the hospital when we're through. God knows, Dean's going to need some support right about now. Is she bad?"

The doctor hesitated, rubbing his face. Jay looked truly worried; it was no secret he had a soft spot for the younger woman. His kids absolutely adored her. "Yeah, Jay, it's bad," he admitted before jumping into the passenger seat. "See you in the waiting room."

"Yeah," Jay said with a little wave, turning back to the field of dead bodies and bullet shells.

"It's a five minute drive to the hospital," Michael said stubbornly as Cody drove their Humvee behind the three-car convoy of the injured headed to the ER. He was looking at Noah.

"Yeah? So?" Noah quipped, trying to ignore the pain in his chest. Paige and Jared were hurt bad, one little bruise wasn't that big a deal. He was a big boy, he could suck it up.

"Let me put it this way, Agent Asshole," Michael said flatly. "My cousin could die before I even get there. I need to know what in the hell went down on that field. If you don't tell me, so help me God, next time we're on a case, I'm going to cut your balls off while you sleep." He looked at Cody. "And kid, we can go faster than the convoy because we don't have anybody seriously injured. Translation, step on it. I want to be there for Dean, and to be there for Paige and Jared should something happen."

Cody stomped on the gas obediently and went around the other three trucks.

Noah had nowhere to go to escape Michael, so he sighed in defeat and told him the whole story.

* * *

_Michael knew one thing for certain about Dean Winchester, and it was that his hopes and dreams had melted away with the sound of that droning flat line._

Dean stared straight ahead, numb with shock. Somewhere along the way Michael had managed to coax him into a tanktop to cover his bare chest, but he didn't remember where or when or how, and he didn't care. He just stared at that blank white wall or at his hands, stained red by his wife's blood. Everything around him was only white noise, his mind far away as he ran over and over in his head that damn, haunting sound.

He knew Michael was there. Could sense his presence in some far corner of his mind. But he couldn't focus enough to acknowledge that he was there, and as time passed, so were many others. His normal self would have bet the entire damn town was waiting in that room with him. His wife was a regular attendee to church, she was on the Town Council, she was a major planner in all town functions including parades and rodeos, and she co-ran the kids program at the church every Saturday. No matter how busy she was she'd always take the time to stop and greet everyone as she walked down the street. The kids absolutely loved her, as did the rest of the town. She'd only lived there for about nine years, but before her great-grandfather had passed away and left her the ranch she'd visited every summer and spring break. She wasn't just a person in the town, she was a part of it.

As for Jared…Jared was a selfless man. He volunteered for anything, no matter how difficult the task, and was always open and friendly, with both outsiders and the people he'd known for years. He was honest, sometimes to the point of being brutal, but he was also intelligent and caring. When push came to shove, he could always be counted on to shove right back. If Dean would have to describe him, it would be as "deceptively friendly". Sure, he was open and cheerful and often peppy at times, but he had another side, a side rarely shown to anyone. His marine buddies called him "Butch" for his quick and violent temper. He was extremely strong and fast – Dean had once seen him beat the shit out of a guy in fifteen seconds, in such a rage that it had taken seven trained soldiers to pull him off the poor dude.

But none of that mattered now. Because both Paige and Jared were barely hanging onto life.

It hit him then. His wife was in surgery, and so was one of his best friends. They could die. They could _die_. Paige could die, and he would lose not only her but their baby, and he would be a single parent who would one day have to tell their beautiful baby son that his mommy had died because he hadn't been there to protect her. His hands trembled just at the thought. He knew what it was like to lose his mom, to wake up every night for a year screaming "Mommy!" only to have his father soothe him back into sleep. The last thing on earth he wanted to do was turn out like his dad and raise his son as he had been raised. There was absolutely no way he was going to let that happen. Sammy would grow up with a mom if it was the last thing he ever did.

No. No, she was not going to die. She was a fighter. She would fight for her life and for the life of their unborn child. And Jared never gave up. There was no way he was going to let some werewolf asshole bring him down, no way. He struggled to hold onto mentality even as his heart felt like it was breaking in half. He couldn't breathe, the thought of losing the only woman he had ever really loved crashing down on him, crushing him with brute force, trying to compress him in on himself until he couldn't think straight.

"Dean?"

His head snapped up at the sound of Sam's voice. His little brother was crouched in front of him, both hands on Dean's knees, concern etched into his face.

Sam smiled. "Hey, there you are," he said softly, squeezing Dean's knees gently. He'd been unresponsive for almost four hours, Michael had said, and that freaked him out. His big brother always had some smartass remark up his sleeve. "How are you holding up?"

It was a stupid question, it really was. He chastised himself for not realizing what Dean's reaction would be.

"My wife, baby, and best friend are being cut up like cadavers and could die at any minute. I'm peachy, Sam."

Well, at least he had talked. Sam was still worried – Dean looked like hell. His usual strong, steady, and steadfast brother had apparently reached the end of his rope.

Dean's face expression was pinched and he was pale and clammy looking. His face had a slight green tinge to it and his usually perfectly kept hair was disheveled; his always-present leather jacket was gone along with his shirts, replaced instead with a plain gray tanktop someone had obviously given him because it was a bit too big. His eyes were haunted, so much so that it made Sam's heart ache. He noticed that Dean's pants were also dripping a huge puddle on the floor and his boots were soggy, which would probably explain his older brother's faint shiver. He glanced down at Dean's hands to find them shaking, but blanched when he realized what was on them – scarlet blood had caked on his upturned palms. Sam realized with sickening feeling that it was Paige's blood. His own stomach rolled at the thought as he realized that she might very well lose their unborn child after all she had been through.

Michael was looking at him. Dean seemed to have retreated back into his own mind, because his eyes glassed over. "Any word?" he asked the FBI Agent.

"Nada," Michael replied. "Little Sammy?"

"Safe with Ally and Levi back at the ranch house. I left Ty and Chuck to guard them."

He nodded. "You should probably sit down," he advised. "We're going to be here a while."

Sam sat next to his brother in the only vacant seat in the place. The entire room was packed with men from the fight still sporting their gear and many with painted faces. None of the nurses seemed bothered by this, having been raised around hunters, they were obviously used to it. The rest of the chairs were occupied by teary-eyed women, obviously of one relation or another to the men sitting stoically awaiting any word.

Dean's subconscious mind was urging him to sleep. He fought it, but eventually, exhaustion from the days' events and the runoff of adrenaline won and he literally passed out. Sam watched his brother's eyelids slowly droop, until his head fell back and his entire body relaxed. He tipped sideways in his chair towards Sam, and all Sam did was reach out a hand to his chest to steady him, bringing his big brother to a cushioned landing on his shoulder.

Exhaustion crept over Sam as well. He leaned his cheek on the top of Dean's head, the spiky texture of his hair tickling his skin but comforting at the same time. Despite the events he felt safe like he always did around his brother. It was probably leftover from childhood. He'd never really been scared with Dean around, and he couldn't ever remember being cold. They'd slept in the same bed as kids bouncing from motel room to motel room, but Dean had been a faithful space heater. He didn't know why, but his older brother's body temperature had always been abnormally high. He could feel that heat radiating off of him even now as his brother shivered.

A thoughtful nurse stopped by with a blanket and wordlessly draped it over Dean, tucking it around him. She then bent down and removed his boots and socks, towel drying his feet and replacing it with an extra pair of boot socks she'd brought with her. She tucked the blanket closer around him and tenderly patted his cheek before she smiled gently at Sam, and then disappeared out the doors.

He turned a sleepy, questioning gaze to Michael.

"Elliot's wife," Michael explained softly.

Sam nodded understanding before passing out himself.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The entire room was sleeping uneasily by six in the morning. It was completely silent except for the ticking clock, silence broken only by the occasional shuffle of clothing as somebody moved before settling back into the next uncomfortable position.

In a normal hospital waiting room, the squeak of the door would have gone unnoticed. But when the door swung open, the slight squeak was in comparison the equivalent of an air horn.

Dean snapped to full awareness, sitting up so quickly that the blanket he didn't remember having before dropped from his shoulders. Goosebumps rose on his arms at the sudden lack of warmth, but he ignored them and looked to the doors, apprehension clenching in his gut.

Doc Schmidt stood in front of him in a surgical cap with his mask pulled down and away from his face. The atmosphere in the room was extremely tense as everyone waited.

"Dean, we need to talk privately in my office," the doctor said softly. "Come on."

Dean stood and followed him, padding through the doors and down the hallway in nothing but socks and not caring in the least. At least his pants were dry now. The doctor led him into his office and closed the door behind them. He sat down in one of the chairs facing his desk without having to be prodded.

"How bad?" he asked straight out.

"Bad," Schmidt said honestly. He held up his hands when all the color drained from Dean's face. "Hold on a second and let me explain before you pass out, Dean."

He was barely holding it together at it was, but nodded agreement.

"She's hurt really badly, Dean," the doctor said, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands over his chest. "She was flatlining when they brought her into the OR, but they revived her. She had a seizure on the table but they got it under control. Her concussion was severe, and the neurosurgeon was worried he may have to operate but the swelling when down miraculously on its own."

He paused to let Dean process. The man was just staring at him in shock.

"That's the immediate stuff," he continued. "She was in shock from her injuries. We can't know for sure but it looks to me like she curled into a ball to protect her internal organs and the baby, and she did a damn good job. There's no injury to anything internally. Externally, however, is a different story altogether.

"Her left collarbone is broken clean in two. It should heal just fine. Her left shoulder was dislocated and took careful ministrations to put it back. She has a fracture on her left radius. Her wrist is swollen and her left arm shows signs of defensive wounds. Her back is badly torn up but not deep enough to require stitches, it appears as though they had her on her side and kicked her in the back repeatedly. She sustained trauma to her back resulting in a fracture on her L1 vertebrae. She lost a lot of blood from the cuts on her back but not enough to be life-threatening. She was also mildly hypothermic but is stabilized now."

"So…will she be okay?"

"She's going to be just fine, Dean. They're going to keep her in the ICU overnight. Hopefully she'll be released in the next few days to a normal recovery room. As for Jared, I don't know for sure. I chose to scrub in on Paige's surgery because Jared's OR was so full."

"And…and the baby?" Dean's lip quivered involuntarily.

"Going to be just fine. She protected him."

Dean's brow furrowed. Him?

"It's just a feeling," the Doctor said kindly as if reading his mind, reaching across his desk to pat his shoulder.

"And Jared?"

"I can't know for sure, Dean. Now that Paige is out of immediate danger, I'm going to go scrub in with Jared, to assess his condition. It's going to be impossible to tell until I see it for myself. When I find out, you'll be the second to know. I'm required to tell his parents first, they're flying in from visiting his uncle in Boulder and should be here within the hour."

Dean released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. It was in the hands of the doctors now. There was nothing he could do. "Can I see her, Doc? Please. I just need to see her…touch her. Just so I can know for sure that she's okay."

The doctor sighed. "Follow me," he ordered.

He was so relieved that he was shaking again, from relief this time, not cold. Paige was going to be okay. She was alive, their baby was alive, and as of now Jared was alive. He almost ran into Doc when he stopped in front of a door in the ICU. A brief glance at the plaque read 6A, her room number.

"She's in here, Dean. It'll be just her. There's a chair you can sleep on. No one will protest you being in here as long as you don't fiddle with any of the machines and get out of the nurse's way so that they can change her bandages. You aren't technically supposed to be in here, but screw the rules. We're all hunters around here, anyway."

Dean nodded. Doc Schmidt opened the door and stood aside to let him pass. With a feeling of trepidation he stepped into the room, his hands balling into fists at his sides just inside the doorway. He barely registered the soft click of the door closing behind him. Taking a deep breath, he raised his eyes to the bed in the center of the room. His eyes started burning at the sight.

Paige was still. She was so peaceful she could have been sleeping. But he'd slept with her in his arms hundreds of times, and knew she wasn't ever _this _still. It was impossible to think of her as just sleeping. She had a tube taped over her nose, aiding her breathing, and she was hooked up to an IV. There was another tube in the back of her hand and a clip on her right index finger. She was as pale as the pillowcase her head rested on, all except for the large, purple-black bruise mottling her cheek.

Dean didn't remember pulling a chair over, he only knew that he was sitting beside her, unsure what he was allowed to do. He reached forward and brushed a stray lock of hair off her forehead, unable to keep from cupping her unbruised cheek in his hand. He lowered his arm and picked up her hand instead, tucking his fingers around it. The contact immediately calmed his racing heart.

"God, what did they do to you?" he whispered brokenly, pressing his lips to her palm. He noticed with a sickening feeling that her fingers were still icy. "You scared the hell out of me. I thought I'd lost you."

He hastily wiped the tears from his cheeks, feeling slightly foolish. He grasped her hand in both of his, noticing how his hands swallowed her smaller one. His eyes focused on the monitor, watching the steady lines scrawl across the screen with each faint beep. God, he would never take that sound for granted ever again. He told her that, and then smiled slightly as he realized she probably couldn't hear him, but it made him feel more relaxed.

"Look, I'm really not into the whole openly lovey-dovey thing," he told her, playing with her fingers, the contact reassuring. "I should have been there to protect you. To protect all of you. I'm so sorry, baby, I broke my promise. I failed you."

Paige didn't twitch in the slightest. Her heart rate and breathing remained steady, calming him.

He leaned forward to press his lips tenderly to her temple. "Doc says you're going to be fine," he whispered in her ear, watching her chest steadily rise and fall. "I won't believe him until you open your eyes and look at me. I can wait. I'd wait for you forever if you'd let me. Just like I told you on our honeymoon, remember? You're more than just my wife, you're my best friend. I don't ever want to live without you. I'd rather die."

He swiped the tears from his cheeks again. "Pete's gonna need a bulldozer to get me out of here. I'm not leaving until you wake up. Take your time, sweetheart. I'll be here when you're ready." He kissed her forehead, unable to stop touching her. Gods, he wasn't going to let her out of his sight for weeks after this. "I love you, do you hear me, Paige?" he said clearly in her ear. "I love you and I'm not ever going to stop. No matter what happens."

Exhaustion crept up on him again, now that he knew she was safe and alive. There was just one more thing he had to do. He gently pulled her blanket down and then rolled her hospital gown up, stopping just beneath her breasts, furious tears pricking when he saw the mottled bruises peeking around her sides. He wanted to kill those bastards all over again. His hand settled over her still-flat stomach, emotion overwhelming him as he realized just what she had gone through to protect that tiny, precious life. He leaned over the side of the bed to replace his hand with his lips, closing his eyes in profound relief. "Hey, little baby," he whispered against her skin. "Your amazing mama kept you safe, little one. You're strong, just like she is." He paused to inhale, forcing himself to keep it together. "Just know your daddy loves you, okay?"

His body had reached the extent of its energy reserves. For once, he gave into the exhaustion willingly, resting his head on the pillow beside his wife, his fingers curled around hers while his other hand rested protectively over their baby. If he had looked up, he would have seen the faint unconscious curve of her lips that his words and presence caused.

* * *

Everything was dark. Cold, wet, shaking….images flashed back and forth, whirling around inside her head with hurricane force, clashing into each other and reeling off in all directions. Her head throbbed painfully, her body consumed with gut-wrenching pain that spread until it felt like every single cell in her body was on fire.

Her memories were all jumbled, flashing before her eyes in random intervals, their erratic placement confusing her further. She remembered low, thudding noises shaking the air and then swaying gently to and fro. She remembered being freezing cold and then burning hot… A tiny, fragile little baby cradled in her arms, his heat radiating into her like a tiny, perfect, precious little ray of sunlight… a boys' sunny smile as he ran at her through the fields of their ranch with his arms outstretched. She remembered rolling around in the sprinklers one hot summer day in her favorite pink polka-dot bathing suit while her big brother tickled her senseless and long nights warm and comfortable in the circle of her husband's strong arms, his heat and strength enveloping her in a sense of peace and safety.

She remembered her father's proud smile the first time he'd taken her and Chris shooting on their land and they'd both bulls-eyed every target. She remembered the surging pride she'd felt first at watching Chris graduate boot camp, and then graduating it herself, tears welling as her dad pinned her bars to her uniform. She remembered her dad's happy tears when he'd gently kissed her cheek before handing her off to Dean, and then Dean's awed expression as he'd enveloped her hands in his, his large, strong hands squeezing reassurance while his eyes sparkled with a combination of happiness, awe, and love.

All of this was in the wrong order. She knew it was. She was awake but not awake, aware but not aware. She still felt chilled, she ached, and her head throbbed.

Blazing heat engulfed her hand, jolting her mind back into awareness. Her entire being gravitated to that heat, anchoring her, keeping her out of the abyss that threatened to consume her if she lost focus. The churning in her mind slowed and finally ceased as a familiar voice entered the flayed edges of her hearing, a low whisper far away at first, until growing steadily stronger to a rumble in her ear. It was _his _voice. She couldn't hear the words or understand what he was trying to say, but she would recognize that voice anywhere: it was the voice of her best friend, her lover, her God-given solace. _Dean_.

Peace washed over her, calming the inner turmoil of her mind, re-arranging her life in the proper order within her memories. Finally, she could rest as the assaulting images faded into the background. As he spoke, her mind drifted back to years ago, settling on a memory and taking her away with it.

****

_The room was quiet now, a soft breeze blowing through the open window. Paige shivered slightly as the cool air brushed the bare skin of her back._

_Dean pulled her against his chest, tucking her head under his chin. He kissed the top of her head and wrapped his arms around her, his large hands absently rubbing comforting circles on her lower back._

_He was quiet, seemingly content to just hold her. She wasn't complaining in the slightest, as the heat of his palms on her back was making her drowsy. She kissed his neck, lingering over his steadying pulse, loving the way that even on a tropical island, he smelled of leather and gun oil and the masculine scent that was just…_Dean_._

"_You smell like strawberries," he murmured against the top of her head, his voice a low rumble in his chest beneath her ear. "And something else I just can't place. Rain?"_

_She smiled against his skin. "Rain?" she repeated, amused._

_He chuckled. "You know what I'm talking about," he said, gently squeezing her hip. "Don't mock me, woman."_

"_Mmm."_

_Only partly aware of what she was doing, she slowly ran her hands up in chest in search of a more comfortable position. His hand flattened hers, holding it in place as laughter reverberated through his chest._

"_God, woman, are you trying to kill me?" he demanded, holding tightly to her hand when she tried to pull away._

"_No," she replied, puzzled. "I'm _trying_ to get comfortable."_

"_You don't have any idea of the effect you have on me, do you, love?"_

"_That would depend," she teased. It was difficult to see his face with her own face pressed against his chest and all, so she couldn't judge his expression. Next thing she knew, she was pinned beneath him._

"_On?"_

_She grinned and tugged gently on his ear, pulling him closer until his chest was pressing against her breasts. Their lips were mere inches apart, his devilish green eyes losing their teasing glint to be replaced with lust. So, naturally, she had to tease him – it was only payback for the earlier "woman" comment. She smiled up at him and kissed his chin. "Let's go for a walk."_

_Dean just watched her, confusion wrinkling his brow, as she nudged him off of her and pulled on some clothes. "It's two-thirty in the morning," he pointed out as he reluctantly stood and pulled on the pair of swim trunks he'd discarded earlier, unwilling to be more than five feet away from her for any stretch of time._

"_Yeah, so? The moon is pretty here at night." She held out her hand, and he took it, threading his fingers through hers and following her off of the porch of the beachfront bure they were staying in and onto the beach._

_He paced along silently beside her, watching her watch the moon. For being raised in such a hellish life, full of monsters and darkness, she considered herself quite the romantic. She would bet that it never ceased to awe him that people could actually dream. It was so foreign to him, as was happiness. She planned to change that. She could feel his eyes on her, but kept hers trained on the moon above them, a glowing orb in the sparkling backdrop of stars._

"_I love it here," she told him, squeezing his hand. They halted just before the water's edge, mindful of the crabs that lingered in the clear waters. She stared up at the cloudless sky, the soft glow lighting the tranquil beach they stood on._

"_Me, too," Dean agreed, looking up at the moon._

"_Fiji is like magic. I don't know, it's just…every time I come here, I feel so…peaceful."_

_She glanced over at him to find him smiling, his eyes fixed on the sky. "My mom told me a story once," he confessed. "That the stars are the glowing souls of people that have died and been captured by God's paintbrush. Now that I'm older it sounds like something out of _The Lion King._"_

_She smiled gently. He didn't open up about his mom very often, but whenever he did, it was about sweet little things he recalled from his early childhood; of a happier time without monsters and demons. They stood together, staring up at the heavens, fingers woven tightly together._

"_Look," he murmured, pointing. "A shooting star. Make a wish."_

_Paige closed her eyes. _Please let this wonderful man be happy, for once in his life.

"_What'd you wish for?"_

"_I can't tell," she whispered, bumping his hip with hers. "It's against the rule. If I tell, it won't come true."_

_He laughed quietly as his palms cupped her cheeks, his touch making fire coming alive on her skin like it did every time he touched her, his thumbs brushing her cheekbones. One of his hands fisted in her hair, tipping her head back as the other settled on her lower back, pulling her against him. _

"_Alright. Tell me someday if it ever comes true," he said huskily, his breath warm on her skin, making her shiver._

"_I will," she promised, opening her eyes just as another star shot by overhead._

_Dean's lips slanted over hers, and she was on fire everywhere, because his hands were everywhere, tracing over her skin. He kissed her with almost frantic need, like she was his sun and air and he would die if he didn't. She fisted her hands in his hair to pull him closer and held on for dear life as her knees went weak. Her thoughts were so muddled she had no idea how long they stayed like that, until he finally pulled away and rested his forehead against hers, allowing both of them to pause, breathing raggedly._

"_Come on," he said softly after a while, kissing the end of her nose and pulling her back towards the bure. There were hammocks between the palm trees, just close enough to the edge that if she looked she could see most of the sky. He settled down on a hammock and pulled her down with him, tucking her into his side._

_She kept their hands interlocked between them. Their heads were side by side as they stared up at the sky together. Both were quiet and content to sway gently back and forth in tune with the ocean. She pondered their relationship, knowing with absolute certainty that no one else had ever made her feel like this. He'd poured his heart out to her, and from that moment on, he'd become her everything. There was no one else on this earth she loved more, no one who made her feel so right, so complete, so _alive_. _

"_If you could ask for anything, what would it be?" she whispered, turning to look at him. She wasn't afraid to ask him these things because he was not only her husband, but her best friend. He rolled over to face her, the ends of their noses touching._

_His green eyes met hers for a long moment before returning back to the heavens. "A year ago I would have said to have my mom back. But if I hadn't lived the life I had, I never would have met you." He sighed and pulled their joined hands up to kiss the back of hers. "I guess I would ask for forever to spend with you, as corny as that sounds."_

"_Forever," she repeated. She sighed and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath and inhaling all the familiar scents of Castaway Island, Fiji. "Forever I can promise."_

"_You would promise me forever?"_

_She just opened her eyes and looked at him. "Yes," she said simply. "I don't know what's going to happen between then and now. But I can promise that I will love and stay with you forever." _

_One eyebrow rose in question, his expression smoothing, dropping all of his guards as he just looked at her. She could see the adoration in his gaze as he smiled, the little crow's feet at the corners of his eyes fanning out, his adorable dimple denting his cheek. This wasn't the Dean he usually portrayed – the cocky smart-ass had momentarily taken the back seat, apparently. But only for a moment. "Total chick-flicky, I know, right?" he said with his usual half-smirk, his eyes sparkling with mirth as his expression returned to normal._

"_You meant it, Dean. That's not chick-flick material in my book."_

"_Forever is a long time, Paige."_

_She loved it when he did that, called her by her first name. No 'love' or 'honey' or 'baby' or 'babe', just her name. It was what he did when he was being dead serious. She knew he was afraid – he wasn't exactly the commitment type of guy – but she had absolute faith in him, because in a lot of ways, she knew him better than he knew himself._

"_Not for me," she said._

_He smiled, his eyes crinkling in that adorable way of his. He kissed her tenderly. "Love you," he murmured against her lips._

_She smiled and dropped her head to his shoulder. "I know," she murmured back, resting her head on his shoulder, her ear on his chest listening to the steady beating of his heart, one of her favorite sounds in the entire world. His arm wrapped around her waist, his fingers tracing small circles on her hip, his lips placing an almost absent kiss to her forehead. _

_She'd never felt more at peace than she did there, curled protectively in his strong arms. She drifted off to sleep, safe in the realization that no matter what happened, he would be there as her anchor._

* * *

Well, ta-da, they're both alive – barely – but they are alive! Jared's still in surgery, though, so we'll see…

**Reviews are loved, guys….please click the button and tell me what you think!**


	17. Chapter 17

Author's Note: Here's the next one…woot! :) Sorry for the long wait, but as you can see, it's a long one. The next one is going to be a SUPER long one. Enjoy! To all my reviewers, thanks for the continued support and encouragement! You're awesome!

And just to abate any confusion, I've decided to start adding chapter names, so that it's a bit less befuddling and I can sort of even out the timeline for y'all…anyway, enjoy. ;)

**disneyfan101:** Thank you for your message and kind words, and I would have loved to answer your question, but your PM is disabled, so I wasn't able to. :P Sorry about that….might want to fix it. Feel free to message me questions any time.

To you and all my other readers, I've got SATs and AP tests coming up in May so I'm probably going to be sketchy as far as updates go. I will TRY to put them out as much as possible. It's going to depend, though, because I often don't get done with my homework until 10-11 and I've got practice at 5 am twice a week. I apologize in advance for the ridiculously long space between updates, but I promise, once May 12th is passed, I'm in the all clear! Just have patience…I'll get the chapters out. Pinkie-promise!

And now, on to the story.

Disclaimer: Don't own a thing 'cept for my OCs, and I hate that I've got to repeat that every chapter, as the realization depresses me…anyway…

* * *

**Chapter Seventeen  
**A Brother's Love

It's funny how quickly something can completely change someone's life. One moment, a fraction of a second, a single decision, all hanging in the balance. And when that balance disappears? Lives crumble, hope withers, faith dies. Despair reigns.

Or at least it does for him.

This was _never _supposed to happen.

Dean stared down at his unresponsive wife, his eyes never straying from her face, praying that she would wake up. He just wanted her to open her eyes. That's all. Just open her eyes and look at him, and then he would know; he would know that she was going to be okay.

The door opening didn't register in his half-conscious mind. A heavy hand settled on his shoulder, and he tore his eyes from his wife to look up into Doc Schmidt's face. He had another man with him, a tall redhead with piercing blue eyes.

"Dean, I brought Doctor Hunt with me," Doc said softly.

"Hey, man," Hunt greeted him with a half-smile. "Jared's family wanted me to let you know that he pulled through the surgery. He's in the ICU a few rooms down and we've got him in a medically induced coma while we try to reduce swelling on his brain, but he should be just fine."

This information was important. He knew it was. All he could do was nod numbly before returning his gaze to his wife's immobile features.

The door swung open and clicked shut, but his gut informed him he and Paige weren't alone. Schmidt was still in the room with them.

"Dean, come over here a second, will you?" He clipped up the X-Ray sheets as he spoke and flicked on the light.

Dean got to his feet and stood beside the doctor. He stared at the X-Rays with a sort of shocked detachment, looking at the dark lines on the lighter bones. Ribs, collarbone, leg…

"Doc, give me the whole rundown. I can take it."

Pete Schmidt sighed and crossed his arms, rubbing his temple. "You're not going to like it," he confessed.

Dean didn't like one damn part of the entire goddamn situation, and glared at the doctor with cold eyes to convey his feelings. His face was haggard and he hadn't slept well in days.

"Alright," Pete agreed, somewhat grumpily. "So, if you look here, she's got two broken ribs on her right side and one on her left," the doctor said, pointing at the area. "Her collarbone snapped clear in half and she's got a fracture on her vertebrae, here, and another on her wrist, here."

"Anything lasting?"

"No, no. She should heal in about six weeks or so."

Schmidt removed the X-Rays and replaced them with images of her CAT scan. "Brain activity is normal, you can tell by looking here, and here."

Dean just nodded, wishing Sam was with him. His geeky little brother would know what everything meant.

"And _this _is her MRI. This here is her left knee. It appears that she's got a meniscal tear. We can go in arthroscopically, it'll be a quick fix, no huge incision."

"And Jared?" he asked.

"We'll know for sure as soon as he wakes up on his own," the doctor said quietly.

"What if she doesn't wake up?" Dean asked, looking at his wife.

"She will, Dean. She's breathing on her own, and her brain activity is great. She's just healing right now. Give her time." Pete put a hand on Dean's shoulder. "Why don't you go home and get some rest?"

Dean shook his head. "Not until she wakes up," he said stubbornly, resuming his place beside her. He heard the doctor sigh and the door shut, and then he was in peace again.

Silence descended again, but for the continuous beeping. He didn't know how long he'd been there, only that she wasn't awake. With a resigned sigh, he put the bedrail down and leaned over, his head on her pillow, the fabric rough against his cheek, and passed out from exhaustion.

The next time he awoke, it was dawn, faint light shining through the curtains of her ICU room. He kept his face pressed into the pillow, a fierce ache shooting up his back and neck from the awkward position he'd been in all night. He was only half-awake, and it took him a minute to figure out why his scalp felt so funny.

He froze, slowly raising his gaze.

Blue eyes stared into his.

Dean could have cried in that moment; he'd never been more relieved. He leaned forward and kissed her temple. "Hey," he greeted her on a choking laugh.

She smiled slightly, her hand running through his hair, fingers crooked like she was stroking a cat. There were bags under her eyes and pain swirled amongst the vivid blue. "You look like hell," she whispered hoarsely.

He laughed, relieved. "So do you," he whispered back, a tear coming free and slipping down his cheek. Unable to resist, he fixed his fingers in her hair, thumb stroking her forehead. He struggled to say the words through his tight throat.

Paige watched him struggle, wishing her throat wasn't so damn raspy and scratchy so that she could help him out. Instead, she did her first instinct. She wiped his tear away and searched for some way to comfort him, and herself. She wasn't dreaming anymore. He was here, her anchor, and she was his.

"Come here," she whispered, her hand fixing on the back of his head and pulling him down. He pressed his face against her neck and shoulder, his arm slipping under her back to hold her gently against him. She hugged him around the shoulders, kissing the top of his head, relieved beyond words that he was actually here, and alive, his heartbeat steady against her side. She loved him even more than she had a moment before for the way his body trembled. She didn't mind. She was trembling just as hard, her fingers fisting in his tank top.

"I thought I lost you," he said against her skin.

"You didn't." She pressed her cheek to his hair, releif spreading through her. She's been afraid the abyss was going to swallow her. But he'd been there. He hadn't given up on her.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, until Dean pulled away, staring down at her.

Paige felt like hell. Everything ached and it was difficult just to keep her eyes open, but she couldn't close them. Not with him there, not with his gaze her only anchor to sanity. Her ribs shifted painfully and she fought the blackness, needing to know.

"The…the baby? Jared?" she whispered, barely able to form the words.

Dean smiled and kissed her tenderly, both of them tasting the saltiness of his tears. "Both of them are safe," he told her. "You did good, mommy." He brushed the hair off her forehead as her eyes dropped slowly closed, her fingers clutching almost desperately to his. "Sleep now. You're safe."

The door opened just as she succumbed to unconsciousness. Doc Schmidt was smiling warmly, ecstatic that she had woken up. Michael was at his shoulder, looking about as fantastic as Dean felt but sporting a wide and joyful smile.

"She's going to be just fine, Dean," the doctor said, clapping his shoulder. "Now, Michael here is going to keep watch. You have a little boy that's been crying for you. He needs his daddy. We'll protect her here. She'll be out of the ICU by the time you get back. We're going to keep her on meds as long as necessary, to help her heal. Why don't you come over here really fast so I can update you on her condition."

He did as the doctor had requested, following him to the corner of the room again.

"Her concussion doesn't appear to have had any lasting damage, but don't be concerned for short-term memory loss, especially events that happened right before this clusterfuck. She'll be confused at first, she'll need you to be her anchor. Help her sort through what confuses and frustrates her." Pete turned to look at him. "Now, as for her ribs, they seem to be mending at twice the normal rate; despite this, however, a broken rib is, as they say, a broken rib and therefore, extremely painful. They will cause her discomfort for a few weeks even at the accelerated rate of healing. Her collarbone is more or less ossifying back to its normal state. Now, we noticed swelling on her knee, and know that she's awake we can do a follow up MRI to see if we missed anything; my guess is possibly an additional tendon tear or strain, which we can repair in a jiffy." He pointed to the X-Rays again, indicating her broken bones with a broad sweep of his hand. "All of this seems to be healing on its own and at an exponential rate. It's the little things that are healing at the normal rate, so remember that her back will be extremely battered for at least another week, if not two. These things take time."

"And the baby?"

"We were extremely careful when doing her X-Rays; all the same, I don't have the _greatest _images of her ribs because we were too worried about the fetus. All tests report normal, though. Amy is optimistic. Go home, Dean. Sleep. Eat something, for God's sake. She'll sleep all night, never fear. I know her pretty well. She'll be pissed if you don't take care of yourself." Pete looked to Michael, who was at her bedside tentatively holding her hand. "He'll watch out for her. Has, ever since Chris passed."

A twinge of pain flashed at the mention of the name, and Pete felt bad. He laid a hand gently on Dean's shoulder, mouthed, "Go home", and left the room to care for the rest of his patients.

Michael stood to face him. "Go home, man," he said quietly. "I'll watch over her. I'll call you if anything changes, with her or Jare."

"Thanks, Mikey." He felt like the weight of the world had just been lifted from his shoulders.

"Anything for family, man. Noah's waiting in the hall for you."

Dean was reluctant to leave her, but he needed his son, needed to hold his baby boy, to feel his heartbeat. He looked at Michael, slightly surprised when Michael embraced him, returning the gesture. He took one last look at his wife and left the room, his heart tearing in half, but safe in the knowledge that Michael would call him the moment she woke up again.

Noah was waiting at the end of the hallway like Michael had said, clad in his pants from the battle and a tank top that had gotten caught up in the sling his left arm was in to leave his chest bare from his sternum to waist, revealing a huge and angry black-blue-red bruise on his chest.

"Nice bruise," Dean croaked.

"What?" Noah said, loudly.

"I said, nice bruise," he said in a near shout.

The haggard looking FBI Agent flashed a grin. "Thanks," he said, looking down at his arm in a sling.

"What'd you do, jump from a tree?"

"Onto a flash bang, actually."

That would explain his current lack of hearing. He shook his head. "You Special Ops guys are fucking crazy," he muttered.

"And proud of it," Noah chimed, flashing another grin. "Hey, man, I'm glad your wife's going to be okay. I happen to love that little brat…even if she's been a pain in my ass since I met Mike in first grade." He was serious now, his hand slapping Dean's shoulder once. "Plus, she makes the best damn cherry pie in the state."

Dean smiled wryly, shaking his head. "I don't have my keys," he realized. "Or my car."

"That's okay. I'm driving."

Suddenly, Dean wished he'd just decided to walk. He eyed the taller man for a minute before sticking out his hand. "Give me those," he sighed.

"Michael said for me to drive."

"I'd like to live," Dean countered, "and if you would, too, I suggest you hand them over or I'll poke that pretty bruise of yours."

Noah smiled and dropped the keys in his palm. "You know," he mused, "I knew there was a reason I liked you. You're as willing to commit violence as I am."

"Damn straight."

And for good measure, he jabbed the FBI Agent gently in the ribs, making him yelp like a girl. Both of them got a good laugh out of it, that is, after Noah stopped wheezing in pain.

* * *

Sam was just about ready to pull his hair out. Levi was easy enough to take care of, the kid was pretty quiet at the moment, just sucking his thumb and cuddling into his mother's shoulder, his dark eyes lidded and obviously exhausted, but the fear in them evident. The poor little guy was afraid to shut his eyes, his normal spunky, impossibly busy personality replaced by this timid little creature Ally barely recognized.

But Little Sammy…Sam had no idea what to do.

The kid just _would not stop screaming_. Ever since Dean had walked out of that door two days (at least he thought it had been two days, but he wasn't entirely sure as time had sort of lost all meaning, first with Jess and now this), he'd had tears streaking down his face. He'd cried so much his entire face was blotchy and he alternated between hiccupping and coughing, so exhausting his body the poor little guy was trembling non-stop and had snot running down his face. Ally wiped it away every once and a while, but the almost-two-year-old didn't want to be held, coddled, or comforted in any way, not even by Ally. The seasoned mother and aunt was just as shocked at his behavior as the rest of them. But everyone the little boy was comfortable around was either continuing to burn the bodies, patrolling the perimeter, or at the hospital lending moral support.

"I don't know what's wrong with him," Sam said, after trying to pick him up for the third time, only to have his screaming escalate (again) until he was put down, again, where he'd just resume sobbing.

"He wants his mommy and daddy," Brad said as he strode into the kitchen and removed his bullet proof vest, staring down at his grandson with sad eyes. Sam and Ally were shocked. He looked like he'd aged forty years. "Sorry I wasn't here sooner, Al. I fought with the SEALs and then went straight to the hospital. We don't want to traumatize him too much, but God, Paige has been gone almost three days. Has he slept or ate at all?"

"He passed out a few times from exhaustion," Ally said quietly. "Levi has been sleeping okay."

"I don't care about Levi right now, Al," Brad sighed, rubbing his face. "My precious baby girl is lying in a hospital bed and I'm here, with her baby son. I feel so helpless." He reached down and picked Sammy up, and the little boy didn't scream, just relaxed and continued to cry for his parents.

"It's okay, baby boy. Your mama and daddy are coming home. Shh. No tears, now."

Sammy hiccupped, his tears finally abating slightly.

"There now," Brad said with a smile, gently wiping his cheeks dry. "You're fine. See?"

The phone rang, and Ally answered it. Her knees almost buckled at the news, and the thanked the caller and hung up. She set down heavily for the second time in three days, the first being when she'd learned Paige had made it out of surgery. "She just woke up," she announced to the kitchen.

"Thank God," Brad breathed, sinking into a chair and holding his grandson tightly. "Hear that, Sammy? Mommy's going to be just fine. I knew she wouldn't give up on me. I already lost Chris, I can't lose her, too…" He trailed off, speaking more to himself than anyone else.

"Dean?" Sam pressed urgently.

"He's on the way with Noah," Ally replied, rocking Levi until his fell asleep with his dark hair matted to his forehead.

The kitchen was silent as Sammy continued to sniffle and cry, comforted slightly by his grandfather. He looked sharply to the kitchen door when it swung open, and then Dean entered the kitchen, scruffy and looking like he hadn't slept in days.

"Daddy!" Sammy yelled, resuming his heart-wrenching sobbing. "Daddy!" He strained over Brad's shoulders, arms outstretched to his longed-for parent.

Dean took one look at his baby's tear-streaked face and felt his heart break all over again. "Oh, Sammy," he breathed, closing the distance in two strides and scooping up his son, cradling him and hugging him tight. "Daddy's so sorry, baby." He squeezed his eyes shut tightly and just held on to his boy for dear life, the boy's tears wetting his shoulder. He kissed his sweat-matted hair over and over again, soothing with sounds he and Paige had been making to him since he was born to calm him down. "Shh, daddy's here. Shh."

He strode out of the kitchen without looking at anyone, headed up the stairs, and stopped in the middle of his and Paige's room, still cradling his son against his chest. "Its okay, Sammy, Daddy's here," he breathed, sinking to the floor with his back against the wall.

"You no go," Sammy mumbled against his skin, only half-conscious from exhaustion.

"Daddy's not going anywhere, buddy." He stroked his hair gently off his forehead, rubbing his back soothingly as Paige always did, his fingers making wide circles against Sammy's flushed skin.

Sammy's exhausted eyes drooped shut, until he passed out with his cheek flesh against Dean's shoulder, his right hand clutching at the front of Dean's tank top, his left hand fisted at Dean's side, safe and relaxed in the protective cradle of his father's arms, his bare little feet hanging over Dean's thigh.

The tears came unbidden, streaking down Dean's cheeks with upping intensity. His head fell back against the wall as he let the emotions come crashing over him at long last, with his boy in his arms, knowing that the both of them were safe and that he could finally breathe easily. With Sammy cradled to his chest, he cried to himself for almost five hours, alone in his and Paige's room, now that the gut-wrenching fear had passed and been replaced by relief. His carefully constructed walls around his emotions tumbled down under the full weight of that bone-deep terror of losing her.

And then, finally, his body could truly relax and he somehow managed to drag himself into bed, falling asleep on top of the covers with his baby boy, his precious joy, his every hope for the future, sprawled on his chest with his little fists refusing to relinquish their hold on his shirt.

* * *

Paige was out of the ICU by the next morning, just as Pete had promised. Jared followed her the next day, having pulled out of his third surgery with no lasting damage, despite the fact he had yet to wake up. The town breathed a sigh of relief when both she and Jared were declared to be in the "all clear". Now, all they had to do was heal.

Dean hadn't slept well since that horrible night. He just couldn't sleep well, not without her there. He could sleep just fine on a job, but at home he needed her there or he slept like crap, which was why he spent almost the entire night sitting Indian style in the middle of the bed he shared with his wife, staring at the clock as the minutes passed into hours. He dozed off and on in-between intervals, but it was only a light doze usually reserved for hunting, when he awoke with a snap at the slightest little sound.

Six o'clock rolled around and Dean knew he'd slept maybe an hour. Sammy was sleeping in his own room again and he heard him start to stir at about six fifteen.

He wearily dragged himself out of bed and to the nursery. "Hey, bud," he greeted his half-awake one-year-old.

"Mommy?" Sammy mumbled, still half-asleep.

"She's coming home soon, buddy," Dean promised, scooping him up and holding him against his shoulder. "Come on, let's go get some breakfast."

Dean yawned and trotted down the stairs, pausing in surprise in the kitchen doorway. Sam was at the stove in an apron printed with little cows, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he worked on whatever was in the pans.

"Uncle Sam!" Sammy said, sitting up higher and rubbing his eyes.

Sam glanced over his shoulder and smiled. "Hey, buddy, hey Dean," he said cheerfully. "Good morning."

He blinked, convinced the emotional strain of the last few days had finally driven him mad. Sam. With a spatula. "Are you _cooking_?"

"Yeah," Sam replied with a raised eyebrow and half-grin. "That a problem?"

"You _never _cook," he pointed out.

"I do now."

"Yeah, right," Ally's amused voice broke in as she entered the kitchen behind Dean. "When hell freezes over." She had Levi on her hip and her hair tied back in a small ponytail. "I'll have you know that I cooked that, Dean, thank you very much."

Sam pouted. "Spoil sport," he muttered.

Dean smiled wryly. "Thought as much," he admitted. "I'm going to go put in _The Lion King _and set Sammy in the playroom."

Ally followed him, and as soon as the boys were situated in the playpen and clutching their teddy bears, Dean turned on the movie. She gave both boys sippy cups half-filled with milk and headed back to the kitchen, where she took over the stove from Sam.

"Nice apron," Dean smirked.

Sam looked down at himself, fingering the fabric. "I dunno, I kind of like it," he said with a slight smile.

"It has little cartoon cows on it."

"But they're _cute _cows."

"Did you just say the words _cute _and _cows _in a sentence? What are you, a girl?"

"Gotta admit," Ally piped up from the stove, "it does look a bit strange on you, Sam, seeing as it barely fits you and was made for a girl half your size. The ties don't even go around your back."

"So?" Sam said defensively, pouting. "I like it. Bite me."

"On the arm or on the ass?" she replied, smirking as he spluttered for a moment before glaring and plopping into a chair to sulk.

"And, in exhibit one," Dean said in his best mock-announcer voice, "we have the famous Sam Winchester bitchface."

Sam punched him on the arm. "Shut up."

Dean grinned his victory.

"You're in a good mood this morning," Sam realized. "Why?"

"Gee, I dunno Sam, maybe because my wife is out of the ICU and I get to see her as soon as Michael gets his lazy ass over here to watch my kid?"

"Jackass," Sam mumbled.

"Bitch," Dean cheerfully volleyed back.

"You okay, Dean?" he asked quietly, nudging his brother's arm with his elbow.

"Yeah, fine. Don't worry about me, Sam."

"You bug the hell outa me about this crap. Only fair if I do the same."

As they always did, Sam's eyes darkened at the slightest implication of Jess' death. Dean was wary all of a sudden, wondering when they would be able to talk about it. He hated constantly dancing around the issue. They fell silent when Ally handed them their plates piled high with pancakes, eggs, toast, and fruit. She disappeared for a moment before reappearing with both boys in her arms. She pointed a cranky glare in their direction as she settled the boys in their high chairs, obviously not appreciating the lack of help.

Dean was halfway through his pancakes when Michael and Noah strode into the kitchen, looking haggard but happy. He was out of his seat in an instant, pancakes and son forgotten, waiting for any news.

"She's sleeping fine," Michael reported, affectionately slugging his arm. "She didn't wake up at all, but they had her doped out to help her rest." He cleared his throat. "You should probably take the night shifts, man."

It was a strange comment, one that Dean lingered on for a few moments. His gaze was inquisitive. "Nightmares?" he guessed.

Michael nodded, looking at the top of his shoes and clearing his throat. "It was…" he trailed off, rubbing a hand down his face, his voice breaking. "Bad. It was bad. I wanted to hunt that bastard down and kill him all over again. Damn that stupid kid for doing it for me."

He palmed his face as well, cursing any existing God for his wife's current torture. First her mom, then Chris, and now this. It was shitty. She deserved so much better. And it pissed him off that all of this was because of his father and his goddamn God-given ability to piss people off to the point of homicidal actions. But of course, John was never around, so it was him that got stuck cleaning up all the goddamn messes. Typical.

"She cried out for you," Noah said, fidgeting uncomfortably at the memory of her nightmare, forehead creased and blue eyes troubled. "They couldn't wake her up and knocked her out to calm her down so she wouldn't rip a staple or stitch. She screamed and screamed. It was…horrifying. And she screamed for Jared, too."

"Any change in Jared?" Sam inquired, steering the conversation away from Paige at the sight of his brother's destroyed expression.

"None," Noah answered, grabbing an apple and biting into it. "Hasn't woken up yet. His parents and brothers flew in with their families. The Motel's going to be packed for a while."

Ally sighed loudly. "Does anyone have the number for the motel?"

"307-143-2864," Michael said automatically, slightly surprising himself. "Why?"

"And people call me a freak," Sam muttered under his breath. Dean socked him on the arm, hiding a grin behind his water glass as he took a sip.

"Because I'm going to give up my room and stay here instead," she replied, picking up and phone, dialing the number, and tucking it against her shoulder while she cut Levi's pancakes into edible squares. She glanced up at them while the phone continued to ring. "Paige won't mind, she wanted me to, anyway. I already took the semester off. Plus, no offense, Sam, but you're kind of clueless when it comes to childcare. Don't worry about Sammy, Dean. I'll take care of him until she gets better."

"Thank you," Dean said softly with a genuine thankful smile.

"No problem," she replied with a smile just as genuine. She stiffened suddenly when the manager picked up, all business now, her tone clipped. "This is Ally Baraldi, room 308. I'd like to pay for the room for the rest of today, and I'll be checking out to free up space," she said into the phone as she left the room, her voice trailing off as she disappeared into the study. "I'll be staying with the Winchesters…"

Noah jingled his keys. "Ready to go, Dean?"

Dean nodded, putting his jacket on and kissing the top of his son's head. "I'll see you in a bit, Little Sammy," he told him. A hand on his shoulder stopped him just before he left the room.

"Doc Schmidt needs to talk to you about Paige, Dean," Michael said in his ear. "Nothing serious, there's just something that's puzzling him."

He had a nagging feeling he knew exactly what that puzzling fact was, but nodded. "Thanks, Michael," he said, gripping his shoulder tightly before following Noah out the door to the black Yukon idling in the drive.

"So who takes care of all the horses?" Noah wondered as he hopped into the driver's seat and pulled away as Dean buckled his seatbelt.

"Our ranch hands, Ty and Chuck," Dean replied, his elbow braced on the open window, his hand trailing in the breeze. His heart thudded painfully when Sergeant spotted him from his paddock as they drove by. The great horse whinnied loudly, ears pricked forward as he cantered along the fence line, having to stop when he met the fence. He reared and whinnied again, stomping his feet and snorting. Dean watched all of this in his rearview mirror.

"Friend of yours?" Noah joked.

"Yeah," he replied absently. "Paige got him for me for my birthday. His name's Sergeant."

The FBI Agent cleared his throat and fell silent, the fields flying by as they sped toward the three-story hospital near the center of town, looking slightly out of place among the rustic buildings. It had been built in the same style, it just towered over the other buildings, offering both security and hope to the hunters who lived in the town.

He made a mental note to bring Sarge a carrot when he came home for lunch. As Noah parked in the hospital parking lot, his heart jumped in anticipation, both to see his wife and for his looming conversation with Pete Schmidt.

"I'm going to visit Jare," Noah announced. "He's across the hall from Paige." He excused himself and disappeared into the elevator, while Dean sighed, resigned, and headed for Pete's office.

"Come in," Pete called when he rapped twice on his door.

Dean opened the door. "Hey, Doc," he greeted him. "You wanted to see me?"

"Yes, yes, come in," he said, waving him forward. "Sit down, sit down." His discerning brown eyes searched Dean's face for a long moment. "I see you took my advice and got some rest."

"Yeah," he snorted, pumping a fist in mock enthusiasm. "A whole whopping hour. Whipee."

Pete smiled and leaned back in his chair, studying the hunter's stoic expression. Those devilish green eyes weren't giving away a damn thing, he knew Dean well enough to know at least that much. "So, Dean," he began, cautiously. "Anything you'd like to tell me?"

"About what?" Dean asked, the picture of innocence.

"Your wife is recovering amazingly fast. So fast, in fact, that her collarbone and back have for the most part healed and her wrist is completely fine." Pete leaned forward, palms flat on the desk. "Strange behavior to someone who was dead when they brought her in. Rather quick recovery, don't you think?"

Dean said nothing, preferring silence. He kept his expression carefully schooled.

"Did you make a deal, Dean?"

"No."

Pete believed him despite his doubts. "Did someone else?" he pressed.

The silence following that statement was telling.

"Who, Dean? Who made a deal?"

"No one."

"Dean, listen to me. I'm going to be perfectly blunt here," Pete said, impatient now. "When they brought her in, she was _dead_. Dead, Dean. As in full cardiac arrest. No heart rhythm, no brain activity, severely hypothermic, and bleeding all over the table. I tried to revive her for two minutes – nothing. She was _dead_."

Dean winced, not wanting to hear this.

"I had no choice but to pronounce her dead. And then, miraculously, her heart started back up again. Color came to her cheeks. As we watched, the heartbeat grew stronger, fueling the life she harbored within. She breathed. We were all shocked." He smiled slightly at the memory. "She suddenly had this fierce air about her, to survive, to make it through. We worked on her for five hours straight. Somehow, she made it. She survived. I'm a surgeon, Dean, this is what I do. And with the extent of her condition, she should have died."

He remained silent, staring at his clenched hands in his lap.

"I'm no stranger to making a deal to save someone you love, Dean. I've seen it. Hellhounds, fun stuff, right? I just hope that you weren't stupid enough to make the deal."

"It wasn't me, Pete," Dean said quietly, so quietly the doctor almost missed his words.

"You know something else that was strange?"

That discerning green gaze fixed on his, waiting.

"This valley is guarded against spirits and ghosts. I helped lay the protections with you," Pete said, a slight smile curving his lips.

Dean just stared, wondering where the hell he was going with this.

"I was exhausted and half out of my mind with the frantic urge to save your wife and child. But for a moment, I thought I saw and heard someone. Someone I knew I was never going to see again, because we salted and burned his body."

He continued to wait for Pete to just spit it out already.

"I saw Christopher Newbern, Dean." Pete sat back in his chair. "Standing in the corner of the OR. Just standing there, looking at me with those discerning blue eyes of his. I thought I was going crazy, but I heard his voice clear as a bell. He said 'Don't you dare let her die', and then he was gone. No one else saw him. I guess it was just my subconscious mind reminding me not to give up on her."

Dean smiled wryly and looked at his hands again.

"I don't know who made the deal, Dean, or if that's even what happened. I just know that she's got a guardian angel or something looking after her. She's damn lucky. At this rate, she'll be okay to go home by next Monday." Pete studied him for a long time, sighing softly.

That was the best news Dean had heard since this whole mess started. He shook the doctor's hand and made a beeline for Paige's room in his rush to avoid further questioning, peace spreading through his being when he saw her safe and whole. They'd taken out her oxygen line, but she still had the heart monitor and IV. He leaned down and kissed her gently on the forehead.

Her eyes fluttered open. "Dean?" she breathed, blinking to clear her vision.

"Hey," he said, kissing her on the lips this time. "How're you feeling?"

"Like I got run over by a bus," she rasped, lips tilting upwards.

"That's my girl," he said, cupping her cheek in his hand. "Cover up that pain with sarcasm. Always works."

She smiled and leaned her cheek into his palm, relaxing entirely when his thumb gently caressed her skin. He was being unusually love-y today, especially for a public place. She smiled when he put her bedrail down and leaned over to rest his forehead against hers.

"Dean?" she whispered.

"Hmm?"

"Who was it?"

His eyes opened, uncertainty swirling in his eyes, not two inches from hers and close enough for her to see the silvery-green and gold flecks in his irises. This was something he'd kept secret for over a year, now. He struggled with it, sitting back and staring at his hands, unwilling to betray the trust that had been put in him. She was asking who had made the deal. He knew that to the depth of his soul.

Paige was startled when he looked up at her with tears swimming in his eyes. And then she knew, and her heart sank, but she had to hear him say the words.

"Chris," he whispered. "It was Chris."

She closed her eyes as tears spilled over, aware of weight on the mattress and his arms wrapping around her, holding her together as she sobbed. "Why?" she choked into his shoulder, her hands seizing his jacket in a death grip.

"He loved you so much, Paige. When you were fifteen and he was seventeen and Claire was twelve, and your mom was driving, you got in a car accident, remember?"

As if she could forget. That had been the night she'd learned of her mother's issues, alcoholism, lying, the works.

"You were dying in his arms. He made the deal so that you could live." He kissed the top of her head. "But it wasn't just for you to live. It was to ensure that you would continue living, even after he was gone. That's why you hardly ever get sick or injured."

"Damn him and his over-protectiveness," she moaned, pressing herself to him as close as she could, craving the contact and the comfort it initiated.

"He was afraid to tell you. He was afraid you'd be mad."

"I'm not mad," she said with a slight hiccup, relaxing in his arms as her tears faded, listening to the faint thrum of his heart under her ear. She was slightly obsessed with the sound, she realized, smiling. "It's nothing less than I would have done for him."

"I love you," he told her, kissing her long and slow. The nurse who poked her head in to check on them, worried over her patient's escalated heart rate, smiled and quietly closed the door, ordering the staff to give room 201 a bit of privacy for five minutes.

She was way more comfortable in Dean's arms than she was in the bed, so she was reluctant to break the embrace. "How's Sammy?" she wondered, her heart aching to see her son's sunny smile.

Dean smiled against the top of her head. "Good," he replied. "Though I don't think I'm going to be able to go hunting for a while. I think us disappearing on him and the whole situation really freaked him out."

"But he's okay?"

"He will be as soon as he sees you."

"How's Jared?" she fired off her next question.

"Out of the ICU. He's in the room across the hall, Noah's sitting with him right now. He's going to be just fine, but they have him in a medically induced coma so he's got some relief from the pain. You looked like rainbows and unicorns compared to him. He's pretty fucked up. But you know, if you hadn't held him up like you did, he would have died." Dean pulled away slightly to look down at her. "You saved his life."

"And if you hadn't gotten there when you did, we both would have died." She looked into his eyes, locating fear in his gaze. "Not going to happen again anytime soon," she said, kissing his jaw. "Don't worry. I'm not GI Jane."

"I am in awe of you," he told her with a slight smile. "You did everything to protect him and the baby. I'm proud of you."

"I wasn't going to let that bastard touch our baby," she whispered, her lip trembling. "No way in hell."

"Do you remember everything?"

She shook her head, frustrated tears leaking from her eyes as a myriad of images jumbled in her brain.

"Shh, it's okay, the doctor said it could take a few days for them to fully come back, especially the ones closest to the accident." He shifted her slightly in his arms. "Am I hurting you?"

"No."

"Paige…did…" he sucked in a deep breath, looking down at her, struggling with the words. "Did they…?" He couldn't even bring himself to voice the horrible words.

Thank God she knew exactly what he meant. "No, Dean. He didn't rape me."

Relief spread through him as his last fear was abated and dismissed. He hugged her tightly, loosening it immediately when she hissed in pain. "You said I wasn't hurting you," he accused.

"You weren't, until the bear hug, doofus," she wheezed. "No! Don't put me down. I'm comfortable." She settled against him again, letting him see her vulnerability. "I only feel safe here, like this. With you."

Comfortable silence passed.

"The baby's doing well," he murmured in her ear. "Speaking of which, we need to start thinking of names."

"Aaron," she said sleepily, his heat making her drowsy, his fingers massaging her neck, one of the only uninjured parts of her back. "And something with Mary for a girl."

"Aaron?" he repeated, smiling at the mention of his mom.

"Means warrior," she explained. "Or maybe Jace."

Jace? That sounded like a nickname, more than a name. "We can talk about this later," he told her, continuing to massage her neck. "Do you want to know the gender?"

"Maybe," she said with a huge yawn, curling even closer to him. That was the last thing she remembered.

He tucked her head under his chin, lovingly rubbing his chin on the crown of her head without even realizing what he was doing. It was like this, finally, that she fell asleep peacefully and without the help of medication.

This, of course, made the nurses very happy. They pulled an extra bed in and pushed them together, so that he could sleep next to her, holding her in his arms. The staff was ecstatic when, as predicted, she suffered no nightmares, which alleviated the stress caused by last night's horrible thrashing nightmares that had almost torn her stitches. Every time they checked up on the couple, Dean was cradling her tenderly in his arms, even in sleep protecting her from the world. Elliot's wife Lisa removed his boots and put a blanket over him, before leaving the room and cracking the door behind her.

"It's amazing," one of the younger nurses, Janice, sighed. She had witnessed the scene earlier.

"What is?" Lisa wondered, scribbling notes on her clipboard.

"How in _love _they are." Janice sighed wistfully, looking at room 201. "If only I could find a guy like that. I mean, he's so _hot_."

"And married, Nance. With a seventeen-month-old and a baby on the way."

"Oh, spoilsport. Easy for you to say. You're married to a hot guy, too, Mrs. Elliot Hotstuff Knox's wife."

Lisa smiled, dipping her head in agreement. "Well, I've got a husband and baby waiting for me at home. Page me if you need me."

Janice checked on the Winchesters several times, and each time, they were both peaceful. She was just happy that Paige was safe, and that with Dean there, free from nightmares.

Dean woke up sometime much later, uncertain as to why. He lifted his head, his mind taking a moment to comprehend his surroundings. He was in Paige's hospital room with her in his arms, comfortable and well-rested, a nice change after his countless sleepless nights. But she hadn't woken him; quite the contrary, she was dead to the world.

Pete "Doc" Schmidt was standing at the foot of the beds, absently flipping through Paige's chart, a frown creasing his lips. He glanced up and noticed Dean watching him, skillfully hiding his reaction to that unnerving green gaze. "Ah, awake at last," he said with a smile. "Good morning."

"Whatimezit?" Dean grumbled groggily, blinking to clear his vision.

The doctor glanced down at his watch. "Four fifteen," he replied.

"Jesus God! In the _morning_?"

"In the morning," Pete verified, tucking the chart under his arm and taking a seat on Paige's side of the bed. "Do me a favor and wake her up, gently, please."

Dean wasn't sure why, but he complied with the doctor's orders, carefully coaxing his wife to wake with a gentle shake. She peered up at him though sleep-and-drug-fogged eyes, her gaze accusatory, clearly not appreciating the early-as-hell wake up call. "Doc's here," he told her, gently kissing her forehead.

"Hey, sweetheart," Pete said, squeezing her good shoulder. "It's good to see you awake. No, no, don't sit up." He gently pushed her back down so she was settled comfortably against Dean's side. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I got bucked off a horse, stampeded by a herd of cattle, run over by a train, and then crushed underneath a collapsing building," Paige retorted sarcastically, her voice dry.

"What hurts?"

"Seriously, Doc?" she sighed, rolling her eyes. "Everything." She glared at him. "Does that answer your question?"

Pete pursed his lips at her, not appreciating the attitude. Dean hid a smile in the top of her head, appreciating her spunk after days of silence.

"Sorry, sorry," she muttered. "I'm just a little testy. I mean, come on. It's four in the morning. It's too goddamn early to be awake, let alone having coherent conversation."

"True," he admitted. "I'm sorry for the inconvenience; it's protocol." He shifted so that one knee was resting on the bed. He spread her chart over it and skimmed through the pages. "Now, we took an MRI of your left knee yesterday, finding a minor meniscus tear. I've got you scheduled for surgery at eight o'clock this morning. It's a quick one, just a few quick snips and you'll be out. We're going in arthroscopically, a minimally evasive approach that leaves no normal surgery incision. Should be fine within a few days." He paused to flip through a few new pages. "Now, three of your ribs are broken, possibly four. Because of the baby, we can't get a good X-Ray, but regardless there's not much we can do except prescribe you pain medication. Your skeletal injuries are healing fairly quickly; I'd estimate that you'll be fine within two and half weeks or so, with another week tacked onto that for your ribs."

"And the baby?" Paige asked, her voice still rough from sleep.

"Amy wants to run tests and do an ultrasound. As of right now, we're confident that no harm was done," Pete assured them. His brown eyes were intense as he looked between them. "However, you both need to be aware that _if _something happened, say, while she was unconscious, damage to the fetus at such an early stage of development could cause life-long health risks. Just so you're prepared."

Dean felt like he'd been encased in cement. Paige turned her face and buried it in his neck, her good arm constricting around his chest. He did the only thing he could do and comforted her, his hand absently stroking her hair.

Pete was silent for a few minutes to give them time. He continued when both seemed to have gotten a hold of themselves. "Do you still have headaches? The report shows that after your nightmares last night you were complaining of sensitivity to light."

"It throbs a bit, and if I lift it too quickly I become extremely lightheaded, but other than that, no," she replied.

"Normal," he assured the couple, smiling. "Yesterday's CAT scan showed that the swelling in your brain has reduced completely on its own; no surgery or follow-up treatment is needed at this time. What we _are _worried about, however, is memory loss. Do you remember what happened leading up to the attack?"

"The last thing I remember is Dean and Sam leaving and me starting dinner."

"Nothing before that?"

"Everything before that, for the most part. There's still a few holes. But…after that…I don't remember. I… I remember being cold. And – and I remember Jared. I think he was saying the Lord's Prayer. I-It was dark. So dark. And so, so cold. I-I remember shaking. A-And so much _pain._"

Dean rubbed her arm as she shivered, his jaw clenching over the picture she'd just painted. Her voice was small and shook noticeably, her eyes far away and distant, focused on horrors he couldn't see or block her from. They still had no idea how long her and Jared had been in that thing. The unusual conditions and uncertain time period had made that impossible to determine; all they knew for sure was that they had both been bordering on severely hypothermic.

"Jared. Where's Jared?" Paige demanded, struggling as emotions from her ordeal overtook her.

He held her steady, even as Pete reached out to lend aid. One scalding look from Dean had him withdrawing his hand and sitting back to watch as he calmed her, his lips at her ear saying things in a voice so soft he couldn't begin to imagine what he was saying to her. Whatever it was, though, it worked. She calmed down enough to realize that she was safe and not in any immediate danger.

"Jared was in pretty bad shape," he said as soon as she was coherent again, settled limply against Dean as he stroked a path from her elbow to her shoulder, occasionally pausing to massage the tension out of her muscles.

"How bad?" she inquired, focused completely on him now.

"Well, it's a hefty list, sweetheart." He sighed and pulled a second clipboard in front of the first, flipping the first page and scowling down at it. "Four broken ribs, a broken wrist, dislocated left shoulder, torn left rotator cuff, fractured left clavicle, fractured left ulna, compound fracture on right tibia, broken nose, laceration over his eyes, torn Gastrocnemius muscle on his right leg, three broken fingers, one broken toe, fractured T1 and T7 vertebrae, torn left external oblique, sprained left ankle, burns on his thighs possibly made by a cattle prod, stage two hypothermia from the water that we've since healed, slight anemia, bruising both internal and external, gunshot wound to the right shoulder that chipped his scapula and fractured his clavicle, and cuts on his back consistent with trauma caused by continuous kicking."

Paige inhaled sharply, tears pricking her eyes.

Pete glanced up to see her expression and smiled. "He's a fighter. We've operated on him three times since you've gotten here, he's scheduled for at least another three. He's going to be pretty good friends with the plastic surgeon. You did good, sweetheart. You saved his life."

She nodded.

"Get some rest. We'll talk more at seven. I'll see you in a few hours for your surgery, okay? Get some rest. Your body temperature is going to take a while to be able to regulate on its own." He looked to Dean. "Keep doing what you're doing. Your warmth will help her body get back to normal temperature and be able to regulate it better."

Paige was already drifting off to the sounds of their chatter.

"Is she going to be okay, Pete? Really?"

"Dean," the doctor sighed, a smile in his voice. "She's the goddamn most stubborn woman I've ever met in my life. Don't worry. She's going to be just fine."

And with that, she passed back into the world of dreams.

* * *

And there you have it! Poor Jared...I really beat him up...anyway, what do you think?  
**Also**: Please note, I'm not medically qualified at all. If there are any discrepencies, feel free to correct me.

**Push the button and give me your opinion!  
You know you want to!**


	18. Chapter 18

Author's Note: I jacked up the timeline a bit. Please ignore my previous mentions of Hookman. "Skin" is a major part of the storyline and will be the primary focus of this chapter. Just bear with me, and again, I apologize for the timeline confusion. I'm not exactly sure what time of the year each episode takes place in, so I'm being vague about seasons. This is somewhere from December 2005-February 2006.

This chapter is pretty dark overall; with some light humor. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: Only own my OCs.

* * *

**Chapter Eighteen**  
Surprise Visitor

_One week later_

Dean walked closely behind his wife, knowing better than to offer her help. He did stay close enough to catch her if she fell, though. Sam walked on her other side, staying just far back enough.

"I'm fine," she said curtly when Sam opened his mouth. Sam's mouth clamped shut with an audible snap and he sighed in defeat, deciding she was even more stubborn than his brother, and that was saying something.

The welcome home party was in full swing inside, despite the fact it was only two in the afternoon. Paige sighed, not really feeling up to dealing with people at the moment. It was colder than hell outside and there was a small layer of snow on the ground already. She'd been in the hospital through her favorite holiday – Thanksgiving – and it was already December. God, it felt like a lifetime since Sam had finally come back to them. She'd missed the end of Indian Summer and it was now freezing. The cold temperature wasn't exactly helping with her aching body, either. But damn if she was going to complain. Her cousin was still in the hospital, back in Intensive Care after his sixth surgery. If he could make it through all that, she could make it up a flight of damn stairs.

Paige suppressed a groan when she reached the bottom of the stairs, glaring up the looming danger of four steps. It was a _long _way. Her breath was hitching already and she wasn't even inside yet.

Dean settled his hand on her lower back. "So proud, woman," he said in her ear. "Why won't you let me help you?"

"I can do it myself," she argued breathlessly, leaning heavily on the rail. Damn steps. She didn't pull away from his touch, however, and she was too busy focusing on breathing to give him any lip.

He knew she wasn't going to ask, so he had to play a little dirty. "Doctors said no stairs," he reminded her smugly, crossing his arms over his chest.

She glared at him as Sam sighed in both defeat and slight annoyance, bounding up the steps to drop into the porch swing to wait. "Screw doctors," she retorted. "What do they know, anyway?"

"More than you, apparently."

"Smart-ass," she grumbled, climbing the first step and trying in vain to ignore the stab of pain in her ribs and back.

"Stubborn mule," he retorted.

"Foul-mouth."

"Bossy."

"Butt-faced miscreant."

"Ouch," Dean laughed. "Quoting _Gilmore Girls_ at me. Nice."

"Asshole," she growled, using the railing as a crutch to the second step, amused despite herself that he remembered that line from the one episode he'd seen.

"Schmidt said no stairs, Paige."

"I'm fine, Dean. See?"

"Sure you are," he sighed, watching her try to climb the next step and pausing when her breath hitched. He moved to stand below her, his booted feet crunching in the snow. He reached forward to apply gentle pressure to the back of her knees. She'd had surgery to repair her light meniscus tear and he knew her left knee was weak.

Paige yelped in surprise when her knees gave out and she slipped backwards. She was tipping and falling, bracing herself for the painful landing, when she was caught in a familiar hold, gasping in pain as her ribs jostled. She glared up at her husband, secretly grateful for his assistance and over-protectiveness.

"Bastard," she gasped as she pressed her face into his chest and tried not to cry, her good hand clutching at the back of his jacket.

"Don't cry," he whispered, kissing the tears off her cheeks. "I'm sorry, but you would have fallen either way, and at least this way I could catch you."

She sniffed as tears continued to leak down her cheeks. She focused on taking deep breaths. "I'm done," she announced.

"Oh yeah?" he chuckled. "Then what's that wet stuff coming outta your eyes?" She didn't reply, just hid her face in his neck, not wanting Sam to see her crying.

He made it up the stairs easily, careful not to hold her too hard. Sam was still waiting patiently, eyes averted from their lovey-dovey moments. At her insistence, Dean set Paige on her feet, keeping only her hand entwined with his.

"Ready?" Sam asked, hand on the doorknob.

Paige took a deep breath and nodded. The door swung open, and the room stilled for a moment before erupting in noise again, with a garbled roar of "Welcome home!" She smiled and lifted a hand to wave at the room at large. She didn't want to speak, exactly, and held tightly to Dean's hand.

Dean squeezed her fingers in encouragement. The pathway to the kitchen was ridiculously long and lined with smiling faces. "To the kitchen?" He turned to look at her.

"To the kitchen," she agreed, allowing him to tug her gently forward.

He was shaking his head in disbelief. She was stopping to hug every single frigging person between here and there, pasting on a bright and happy smile and a kind word for each and every one of them, despite the fact she was in pain. Dean could tell easily, because the skin around her eyes tightened and her breath hitched with every third step, and her face would display a tiny twinge every time someone squeezed her a bit too hard. He was just about ready to scoop her up in his arms, damn her protests, and take her up to bed.

That was unnecessary, however, because they made it to the mostly empty kitchen, and Elliot was standing there with her bottle of pain pills in one hand and a glass of water in the other.

"Figured you'd need these," he said gently.

"Oh, bless you." She saw a familiar look in his eyes. "El," she breathed, looking up at him. Her fingers curled around his wrist. She wrapped her arms around Elliot's waist and buried her face into his chest, her hands clutching his belt loops at his lower back and her forehead thudding heavily on his shoulder. She couldn't hug him very hard because her injuries hadn't healed all the way yet, but she hugged him as hard as she could, relaxing when his strong arms squeezed her back.

"Thank you," she said, voice muffled in his shirt fabric.

"There's nothing I wouldn't do for you, girl," Elliot said, kissing the top of her head. "Just promise me we'll never have to go through that again, okay?"

"Promise."

Elliot caught her waist when her knee gave out on her with a sharp stab of pain. Dean lunged for her as well, catching her elbow.

"Alright, arm around my neck, woman," Dean ordered. She was willing to obey this time, having expelled most of her energy walking across the yard and family room. He lifted her easily into his arms and kissed her forehead. "Take your medicine."

Popping two pills out of the bottle and into his hand, Elliot handed them to her along with the glass of water, accepting them back when she obediently swallowed. "Get some sleep, baby cakes," he suggested.

"Don't call me baby cakes," she mumbled tiredly, resting her head on Dean's shoulder as the pain medication started to kick in and relieve the dull ache in her back and ribs. She didn't have to hide here with her husband and older cousin. She didn't care if they saw her weakness, because they wouldn't exploit it.

"I'll keep the wolves at bay," Elliot promised, slapping Dean's shoulder. "Get her in bed and then go see your boy. He's been asking about you since you left for the hospital to pick up Paige. Ally put him down for a nap about a half an hour ago. I told him you'd come in when you got home."

"Thanks, El."

Elliot smiled. "Anything for family, right?" he teased. "Go on. Take care of that pretty cousin of mine."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean scoffed, walking out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

"Did he just call me pretty?" Paige asked, only half-conscious.

"Sounded like it to me."

"Huh."

Paige – at least the part of her that was aware of what was going on – was surprised. She relaxed as the medication really kicked in, even though it was far less of the medication she should have been taking; but it was all she was willing to take while she was pregnant. She remembered Elliot's words earlier. He'd called her baby cakes, a nickname she was far used to. She was the first girl in six generations on her dad's side and one of four girls out of sixty-one boys, and on her mom's, she was one of six girls to the fifty-seven boy cousins. Not the greatest ratio when growing up. She and Claire had been teased mercilessly, but as they'd grown the boys had become extremely protective of the girls.

These trains of thought made her feel guilty for scaring them so bad. She vaguely remembered shouting voices and dark, cold silence…her head started to ache, but she couldn't focus.

"Sammy?" she mumbled, aching for her son.

"Do you want me to get him?" he asked her, pressing gently kisses to her eyelids and the tip of her nose.

"Is he okay?"

"He missed you. Asks about you constantly."

"It's been a long time."

"Longest time of my life," he admitted.

"I want to see him before I go to bed."

"Okay."

He put her down and wrapped an arm around her waist to keep her steady. They quietly crept into the dark nursery, not wanting to wake him up so soon after he went down.

Sammy was asleep sprawled on his back like Dean often did, one arm curled around his favorite blue blanket and the other thrown wide palm up. She leaned down to kiss his forehead, smiling lovingly at the sight of his round-cheeked face.

"Come on," Dean whispered to avoid waking him. "You need to rest." Sammy would be up from his nap in about two hours anyway. He pulled her back into his arms, leading her to their room.

He set her on the bed and turned to the dresser, digging around for a moment before handing her favorite pajamas over. "Do you need help?"

Paige shook her head, and he headed to the bathroom to get her a glass of water. She was thankful for the privacy and took the time to carefully un-strap her sling and pull her arm out of it so that she could change. It was awkward and painful to pull her shirt over her head, and her arms got trapped and jostled her injures. It was suddenly all too much and she burst into tears, sliding off the bed.

Strong arms were there to catch her. "Do you want this on or off?" he asked roughly, lifting her back atop the covers.

"Off," she sniffled.

Dean untangled her gently, each and every one of her little gasps of pain stabbing into his gut like a white-hot poker. When he finally got her free he threw the shirt unceremoniously over his shoulder. His stomach rolled when he looked at her back, her once-smooth skin now mangled and splashed with long red scabs, purple-black bruises, and angry red scrapes.

He gently kissed each of her shoulder blades before nuzzling the sensitive skin between them. "Do you need help?" he asked again. Her sniff was a clear enough and she let him pull her shirt on inch by painful inch. "Are you okay?"

She shook her head, her lip wobbling as she fought against her pain, exhaustion, raging hormones, and flayed nerves. She pulled away when he reached for her.

"Do you want me to leave?" He threw up a wall to keep her from seeing how much her pulling away had hurt him.

Her head snapped up, her wide, terrified eyes locking with hers. "No," she said quickly.

Relief spread through him. "What do you need?"

"I'm cold," she whispered.

"Alright, come on," he coaxed, getting her under the covers and spreading a few extra blankets over her. He crouched next to her side of the bed so that he was a little lower than she was. "You should get some sleep." Her gaze was fixed on his face, her expression troubled as he watched her obviously struggle for the words. "It's okay," he soothed, reaching out to tuck her hair behind her ear. "Just close your eyes."

"I don't want to close my eyes," she whispered. "I'm afraid that if I do, when I wake up, I'm going to be back in that water tank."

"You're safe now," he reminded her.

"I _know_, Dean." Tears welled in her eyes, clouding her vision. She furiously blinked them away. "But it doesn't change how I feel."

"You're not physically cold, are you?" It was more of a statement than a question. "I don't understand, baby. What can I do? What do you need? Talk to me."

"Warmth," Paige whispered. "I need warmth. I need _you_."

"As you wish," he said with a half-teasing smile, stripping to his boxers and slipping under the covers with her, scooting over until he could reach her hips and pull her back against his chest, his arms encircling her protectively, his chin rubbing the top of her head.

His warmth was kin to the blazing sun, she realized. Even with her shirt on, he heated her from head to toe, chasing away the demons of cold that had plagued her body for days. Memories of the tank faded away as she focused only on his heat and the feeling of his arms wrapped around her. _Just one more night_, she mused. _One more night of using him as my security blanket. He has to get back to hunting. I can do this._

"Better?" he asked, kissing the top of her shoulder and smiling as he realized he'd kissed her a lot more than usual today. At that moment, he didn't really have the energy to care, though. She mumbled something incoherent, her breathing evening out as exhaustion started to overcome her. He felt her breathing deepen and knew she'd fallen asleep, her cheek pillowed on his bicep. He sighed in contentment and followed her into oblivion.

"_Where is that little bitch?"_

"_In the back with that asshole army guy we found."_

_She froze, heart pounding, listening hard to the nearby voices. She forced herself to relax and breathe through the gag shoved in her mouth, trying to orient herself to her surroundings. A car. She was in a car, bouncing along down a road, probably a dirt one. All of her weapons were present and accounted for except for her rifle, she could feel them as she bounced with the movement of the vehicle, her body screaming from the pain the movement initiated._

_There was a warm weight against her side. She knew it was Jared, even without being able to see. She instinctively curled closer to him, her bound hands reaching out until she felt warm skin, skin that she squeezed. It felt like a bicep, maybe a forearm? She couldn't tell._

_Whatever it was, it flexed under her fingers, the powerful muscle rippling with tension before relaxing again. It was Jared, she knew it. And he was letting her know that he was awake, aware, and for the most part, okay._

_The car slowed, and eventually, stopped. She tensed again, wary of her next beating, her current injuries already fogging her mind._

"_Drag her out."_

_Strong arms enveloped her around the middle, mercilessly squeezing her battered ribs, sending pain shooting through her like a lightning strike. She screamed but no sound came out as they started beating her, their fists driving into her back._

Dean snapped awake to a blood chilling scream, immediately tensing in reaction. It took him a short half-second to realize that Paige was trapped in some sort of nightmare, and hastily released his hold around her middle, trying to calm her and wake her.

Paige snapped awake all at once, panic clenching in her gut. She struggled to breathe as she rapidly scanned her pitch-black surroundings. She stilled her thrashing and yelling when she heard a startled grunt as her elbow caught something soft but solid, stiffening at the tight hold around her as it loosened, before releasing her entirely.

"Hey, hey, shh," he soothed, his ears ringing from her shout. "It's okay. It's me. You're safe." He sat up, pulling her with him.

_Dean_. It was just Dean. She relaxed completely into his embrace, sobbing into his neck as the effects of the flashback wore off. His arms tightened around her as she shook violently, shaking so hard her teeth were chattering.

"Flashback?" he guessed, rubbing her back and attempting to soothe away her fear.

He felt her nod and pulled her closer, feeling helpless as he tried in vain to calm his pounding heart. He felt disgusted at himself. It was his actions that had freaked her out somehow, he knew it.

He lay back down, holding her close. "I'm sorry," he said, voice cracking. "I shouldn't have been holding you like that. I…"

"Did nothing wrong," she finished, kissing the side of his neck, just under his jaw.

"I didn't mean to."

"I know, Dean," she whispered. "It was just a nightmare. I freaked out, that's all."

She was still shaking, so he dropped back down and pulled her with him, humming Metallica softly under his breath. Eventually, she fell asleep again, this time not dreaming at all.

"Go get 'em, Sammy," a voice said, part of the darkness.

Dean heard the soft plodding of little feet, grumbling incoherently as a solid weight slammed into his back with a joyful cry of "Daddy!"

Oh, great. Sammy was up. He cracked an eye open to peer at the alarm clock, reading the god-awful time of 4:25 AM. He snuggled deeper into his pillow, burying his face in Paige's hair. He felt her do the same and pull the blanket over their heads, enveloping them in velvety darkness while their son bounced excitedly on Dean's hip.

"It's four-thirty in the goddamn morning," Dean mumbled, voice muffled in the pillow and her hair.

Paige was awake now. She sat up, pushing the blanket back, her husband grunting in surprise when cold air blasted his bare chest. "Hey, baby," she said with a tender smile, holding her arms out.

Sammy looked at her for one long moment, his green eyes wide as saucers. She just kept her arms out and waited, and then, with a little gasp and strangled cry, her son launched himself forward, his arms constricting tightly around her neck.

She hugged him tight, kissing the top of his head. "Samuel Dean," she breathed, rubbing his back. "Mama missed you, big guy."

He didn't release her, but did lean back a bit to stare up at her with wide eyes. "Mommy," he said, his little hand pressing into her cheek.

Paige smiled and kissed his hand. "Sammy," she said, rubbing noses with him and making him smile.

"Mommy," he repeated, tucking his head under her chin and holding on tight.

Dean watched the scene with a warm smile, completely oblivious to Sam standing in the doorway. He sat up, wrapping his arms around all three of them, and thanked whatever deity that was listening for his family.

* * *

Sam started suddenly in sleep, not quite sure what had woken him. Rubbing his eyes, he sat up and looked around. It was still and silent, almost deafening. A quick glance at the clock told him it was six fifteen. Silence wasn't right. Dean and Paige were usually up long before this.

With a yawn, he got out of bed, shivering slightly at the temperature change. He pushed his curtains aside and was almost blinded by the sun. Snow covered the landscape as far as the eye could see, coating it in a blanket of pure white crystals glistening brightly in the morning sun. He heard a barking dog, and looked into the yard to see Dean giving Paige a piggy-back ride, both of them grinning and laughing at a joke he couldn't hear. He smiled as he watched his sister-in-law plant a kiss on Dean's cheek. Damn, it was good to see her up and about again.

Jared had woken up on his own for the first time yesterday morning. He'd survived through six surgeries and four stays in the ICU. He was a touch sonuvabitch, that was for certain. Paige had stayed with him all day yesterday and Dean had gone with her, leaving Sammy in Ally's capable hands. His quickening recovery had put them both of them in a good mood. They'd been cheerful at dinner last night and had laughed and bantered playfully all the way through the sitting, even if Sammy had refused to be further than ten feet from Paige and Dean at any given time.

His laptop was a bit slower than usual in starting up, but he was eventually able to check his e-mail. Out of habit, he skimmed around for hunts, finding a few he thought looked promising but knowing that Dean would be hesitant to go, torn between his thirst for fighting evil and his need to be with his family.

"Sam, you up?" a voice called from the door. He looked up, startled, closing his computer with a snap.

"Yeah, Al," he called back, heading to the door and pulling it open.

"Daddy!"

"Hey, bud," Sam said, lifting Levi into his arms. Interacting with him was still a little awkward, but he'd accepted full responsibility of his actions with Ally. Levi was his son, and damn if he was going to abandon him. No way in hell. "Morning, Ally." He bent down to kiss the top of her head.

Ally stiffened in surprise, looking up at him with raised eyebrows. "Okaaaay," she said slowly, shocked. "Um…good morning to you?"

"It is, actually," he replied, bouncing his son in his arms and kissing his cheek. "How'd you sleep, bud?"

"Gweat!"

"Great, honey," Ally corrected absently, still shocked by Sam's show of affection. He didn't even seem to realize he'd done it. She was surprised further when he slung a heavy arm over her shoulders and led her downstairs with their son on his other hip.

They arrived in the kitchen just in time to see Dean duck through the doorway with Paige on his back, their cheeks and noses pink from the cold but grinning in obvious happiness. "Morning," they chorused as Sammy ran in behind them, bundled up in snow gear with a pink nose and wide, joyful, dimpled smile.

"Snow!" he cheered, holding out his gloved hands to display handfuls of the cold, white substance.

"Sammy, baby, go put that back outside," Paige ordered, getting of Dean's back. "Come on, honey. The snow is outside only. It's got to stay out there, okay?"

"Okay," Sammy mumbled solemnly, hanging his head and following her back out the door to the yard.

Ally took Levi outside to show him the yard and the snow, bundling him in one of Sammy's extra snow coats first. That left Dean and Sam alone in the kitchen.

"Nightmares?" Sam asked to start up conversation.

"Nah," Dean replied, hanging up his coat and removing his snow boots. "No more than usual, I guess. She didn't even twitch for the most part."

"And Jared?"

"She's going to go visit him this afternoon."

"I'm glad he's okay."

"Yeah, me too, Sammy. Me, too."

"So…? What, you're not going with her?"

Dean sighed and sat down at one of the kitchen chairs, rubbing his hand over his face. "There's something else we have to do," he hedged.

"Like what?" Sam asked, hoping his brother was going to say…

"Hunting."

He would have cheered and pumped a fist in the air if Dean wasn't so serious. Instead, he sat across from him. "There's this case I was reading about this morning, think it might be our type of gig, Dean. A buddy of mine from school got accused of murder."

"So?"

"So Zack wouldn't hurt a fly. Let's just go check it out."

"You have friends?"

"So? You do, too."

"Yeah, but my friends are hunters," Dean pointed out with a smirk. "I don't do normal people. They annoy me."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "FBI Agents? Federal Marshals? Cops?"

Dean shrugged. "Hunters, hunters, and…oh, yeah! Hunters," he mocked.

He sighed, aggravated. "We're going," he said, pointing a finger at Dean. "Zack needs our help."

"Fine, fine, whatever. But if we're going all the way to Stanford we should probably leave this afternoon."

"This afternoon?" Sam hadn't been expecting such a quick departure time.

"Already talked to her about it," Dean said with a knowing smile, as if reading his thoughts. "She's fine with it. St. Louis, then back here, round trip about a week, tops, depending on how long the case takes us."

"Alright. Guess I'll go pack my stuff then."

"And I'll pack you guys lunch to eat in the car," Paige said from the doorway, emerging back into the kitchen with Sammy on her hip.

Dean stood and kissed her just long enough to make her toes curl. "I knew I loved you for a reason," he said against her lips, even as Sammy made smacking noises and pushed against their faces with his ice-cold gloves, face screwed up and squealing, "Eew!"

"Only for the cooking, right?"

"And the laundry," he quipped.

She smacked him and laughed. "Go get packed, Dean," she ordered. "You guys can drop me at the hospital on your way out. Noah's going to bring me back tonight."

"Ma'am, yes, ma'am," Dean and Sam said in unison and with twin grins. And then they ran for it before she could smack either of them, laughing like loons as they shoved each other up the stairs, while Paige and Ally just shook their heads and muttered one word.

"Men."

* * *

Jared was improving quickly, thank God. Paige was sitting at his bedside, reading him his favorite, _The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers_, while he rested. Jared's eyes were lidded as he hovered between awake and asleep, lulled into the comforable relaxation he was currently in by her voice bringing a childhood favorite to life.

Dean and Sam had left about three hours ago, and Noah was picking her up in five minutes to take her back to the ranch. She marked her place and closed the book, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to his forehead.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Jare," she whispered.

He smiled. "'Kay," he mumbled, squeezing her hand. "Thanks for reading to me."

"I'd give you a massage if they'd let me," she teased, smiling at Jared's nurse as she entered the room.

"How's he doing tonight?" Rachel asked with a warm smile, checking the monitors and his IV bag.

"Good," Jared replied, smiling up at her. "_Lord of the Rings _again."

"Ooh, what part are you at?" she asked, honestly curious.

"Helm's Deep," Paige replied, rolling her eyes with a grin. "His favorite part. Don't know why I read it to him, honestly, because he knows the entire damn thing back to front."

"It's nice to be read to," he defended himself, coughing suddenly and doubling over in pain as his broken ribs protested.

"Okay, that's enough talking for you, Mister," Rachel said, checking his medicine levels. "You're a little low on your painkillers. As soon as I give you these, you'll be in la-la land."

"Like la-la land," he mumbled with a goofy smile as the drugs started to pass through his IV and into his system.

"Of course you do," the nurse said soothingly, smoothing his blankets. "See you in the morning, Jared."

Paige kissed his forehead one more time. She smiled at Rachel and stood, putting the book on Jared's beside as his older brother Theo entered the room. "Hey, Theo," she greeted him, stepping willingly into his embrace. "You assigned night guard tonight?"

Theo smiled down at her, his silver-blue eyes sparkling with mirth. "I'll read to him," he said, nodding at the nighstand. "What part are you at?"

"Helm's Deep."

"His favorite. Good, it'll give him funny dreams." He kissed her forehead. "Go home and get some sleep, baby cakes."

"Don't call me baby cakes," Paige warned, kissing his cheek. "I'll see you tomorrow night." She left the room with Rachel, chatting about the town and the weather and Sammy.

"Question for you," Rachel said suddenly as they walked down the hall.

"Shoot," she said. "Ask away."

"Is Theo single?"

"Nope, married with kids and living out of town. He just got off work; he doesn't wear his ring because it can get caught on things."

"Hmm."

Paige smiled at the nurse's train of thought. "Jared's single," she said, looking straight ahead and watching the young nurse blush in her peripheral vision. She grinned. "Not very subtle, there, Rach."

"Well, I try," Rachel sighed, grinning sheepishly. "It's just, he's so sweet and funny. He always makes me laugh, and he's great to talk to. Some of his opinions are ridiculous but he's a nice guy, really."

"Preaching to the quire, here, Rach," Paige said with a grin, holding both hands up. "I grew up with him. You don't need to state his assets." She noticed especially how the blonde nurse hadn't said anything about his face or his money.

"Plus, he's sort of hot."

Paige grinned. "Yeah, _sort _of," she said, nudging Rachel with her elbow. She was serious now. "Seriously, though. He's looking for someone serious. Give it a shot. He likes you."

"How can you tell?"

"He talked to you. That's more than most single women around here can say."

Rachel pursed her lips, thoughtful, as they paused just inside the doors of the hospital. "See you tomorrow afternoon, then?"

"And every afternoon after until Jared's out of this place." Paige smiled at the nurse as Noah's black SUV – it positively screamed FED – pulled up, Noah smiling and waving at the familiar nurse. "So I'll see you tomorrow, then. I might sneak Jare in some of his favorite chocolate, too."

"Hide it carefully," she warned, waving back at Noah. "God, that man is _sexy_."

"And a manwhore," Paige deadpanned with a grin and a wink. "'Night, Rach." She hopped into the SUV and grinned as they pulled away. She looked over at the tall, blonde, ruggedly handsome FBI Agent as she buckled her seatbelt. "You know, you really should settle down."

"One woman, all the time?" He gave her a wide-eyed look. "Where's the fun in that?"

Somehow, she'd known he was going to say exactly that.

* * *

Paige hummed asently under her breath while she chopped the carrots and dropped them into the soup she'd been working on since Noah had picked her up from the hospital. She was yawning every other minute and trying to keep her eyes open, and the heat radiating off the stove wasn't helping with her drowiness much. Dean and Sam had been gone two days, and she'd slept like crap both nights. The living room was noisier than usual, as her dad, Noah, Michael, Ty and Chuck were over for dinner. She could hear them talking and laughing with Ally in the living room and the kids playing on the floor, and the faint dialogue of _The Incredibles _in the background.

" 'Slept well', huh?" a voice drawled from behind her.

She smiled but didn't turn around. She'd recognize that sexy Texan drawl anywhere, especially condering she'd been hearing it a lot more than usual lately. "What's it to you how I slept, Clayborne?"

Noah sat on the counter beside the stove, his heels banging the cabinets a few times before getting comfortable and leaning forward with his hands braced on the counter's marble edge.

"You've got bags under your eyes, sweet cheeks," he said with a devilish grin, pinching her cheek in demonstration.

She slapped his hand away and socked him on the shoulder, rolling her eyes. There was just something about Noah David Clayborne that bugged the hell out of her.

"And," he continued, accepting the carrot she offered him, "since Dean's been gone for two days, I know it's not because you're gettin' love. Which, by process of elimination, leads me to conclude that you're having nightmares and/or flashbacks of the tank."

Paige was slightly amused how Thunder Creek had dubbed it "the tank". No one went anywhere near it; they were even talking about tearing it down and constructing a new one on the other corner of Jared's land. It was touching how they wanted to elimiate the structure, as they knew more than perfectly well how every time her and Jared would look at it they would be reminded of painful, terrifying memories. No one even mentioned it in casual conversation, or pointed it out or asked questions about it. Mostly, they just brought food, and lot's of it. People were even starting to give her and Dean homemade baby blankets and little hats, mostly white and green as she wasn't yet four months along and they didn't know the gender of the new baby Winchester.

She studied Noah for a long moment, pondering his words while she thought of a response, slightly annoyed by his knowing smile and the amused twinkle in his bright blue eyes. She reached over to smooth his hair, which was sticking up on one side. "I hate profilers," she said, looking back to her chopping.

"Spill," Noah said, leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms.

Emotions raged war within her. Her chopping slowed and finally stopped as she set the knife aside and braced her hands on the counter, staring down at the silver ring on her left ring finger. She peered at him for a long minute while she considered a response.

"I can't sleep," she admitted.

"Sometimes, or all the time?"

"Most of the time. I don't want to close my eyes. Every time I do, I see that tank. It's like after my bird got shot down in Iraq."

"Were you afraid to fly after that?"

Paige shook her head. "No way in hell," she said with finality. "Practically the minute the rescue team rolled in they threw me back behind the controls."

"But the tank?"

"Different." She looked at the white lettering on his chest that boldly proclaimed FBI against his black T-shirt. "When I was in the Army I was never alone. In the tank I was, for God only knows how long. And that scared me, Noah. It really did. When they dumped Jared in with me I knew that something was wrong, even if he seemed fine. I eventually figured out that he was dying on me and there was nothing I could do to stop it."

"Sweetheart," he chided gently, reaching for her. She stepped away, needing to finish her mini-speech.

"He was _dying_, Noah. I felt him slipping away. He was _dying _and it was all my fault!"

"You saved his _life_, baby cakes," he corrected, reaching out to cup her neck in the back of his hand. He gently drew her forward until her forehead rested on his chest, his free hand stroking her hair as her arms locked around his chest.

"Is this leftover from Chris?" he asked gently against the top of her head.

She sniffed and nodded. "It's my fault he's dead," she admitted. "He...he traded himself for me."

Noah just continued to hug her as she fought to keep it together. "You know, you kept him alive in that water," he told her. "Even with your own injuires and exhaustion you didn't start to give in until you heard us coming. Until we had you both out and in those helicopters."

He was being unusally nice and she appreciated it. "I'm sorry," she mumbled.

"For what, baby cakes?"

"For Chris...I know you fought with him in the Army and he was one of your best friends. I'm sorry for the tank. I'm sorry for dying."

"Nothin' to be sorry about, Paige."

She finally smiled, rubbing her cheek over the FBI lettering.

"Can I say something?"

"I have a feeling you're going to anyway," she teased, wiping her eyes and looking up at him.

"A brother's love is no reason to be ashamed." His eyes glittered with emotion. "It's okay for him to have loved you enough to do what he did."

"I'm not ashamed," she said quietly, absently twirling her wedding ring around her finger.

"Aren't you?"

"No."

"Then what?"

"Hurt."

"Why?"

"Because he didn't ask me before he did what he did. I didn't _want _him to save me. Not like that."

There was a loud thud from the family room. Noah and Paige exchanged looks.

"Everything okay in there?" Noah bellowed, the volume making her jump slightly.

"Uh...there's something you need to see!"

Puzzled, they headed into the famiy room. The room was silent, her visitors staring at the TV, which was no longer playing _The Incredibles _and was instead on the national news. There, on the screen, was a sketch of a very familiar face. Paige's draw dropped. "Is...is that _Dean_?"

"They're saying he murdered women in Missouri," Michael said, the channel changer hanging from his limp fingers. "No way. No _freaking _way."

Sammy stood and hobbled over to her, clutching to her pants. "Mommy," he crooned, holding his arms up.

Paige picked him up without really thinking about it, holding him close.

"Wha wong, Mommy?"

"Shh," she told him, listening to the reporter, but she couldn't hear her anyway through the numb buzzing in her ears.

A steady, sudden, and booming knock on the door drew the room from the silent shock. The sketch of Dean was in the right corner while a news reporter droned on about murdered girls and an FBI manhunt.

She felt like she was in a dreamworld. Her fingers were numb when she turned the knob and opened the door. A man was standing with his back to her, neckline hidden behind the tipped-up collar of a leather jacket. His hair was graying but dark brown, his shoulders broad, and his feet braced apart and secured in biker boots.

"Can I help you?" she demanded rudely as she cradled her curious son closer, wondering who would have the nerve to knock on her door at eight in the evening. She was perfectly aware of Michael and Noah behind her, hands hovering at their holsters, eyes wary as they studied the mysterious man.

The man turned, a familiar smile faintly visible on his weathered face. She couldn't see his face completely, as it was cloaked in darkness.

"Is this the Winchester residence?"

His voice was deep, gravelly…familiar. "Yeah," she said, beyond suspicious at this point. "Who the hell are you?" She turned away so that her body shielded her son.

The man stepped into the light, and she felt her jaw drop in absolute shock.

"Jesus bloody Christ," she breathed, grabbing the doorway for support.

"We need to talk about what's going on in Missouri."

* * *

So...thoughts? You should be able to guess who the visitor is...if so, I need some more practice...

Anyway. What do you think?  
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	19. Chapter 19

Author's Note: WOW! That was my single most reviewed chapter ever! You guys rock! I should be studying right now but I feel extremely motivated to put this out for you guys. So enjoy. :P

And I'm assuming that if you're reading this, you've mostly probably watched first season (except for you, Rachel, haha :P) so I'm trying to avoid going in-depth and telling the episodes all over again. Instead, it's just focusing on the feelings/emotions during and/or after the whole shapeshifter situation. This is a short chapter focusing mainly on Paige, and the next will be about the boys, with a little bit of each thrown in between. Enjoy!

And I also wanted to apologize in advance…if John seems off-character to you like he does to me, drop me a suggestion, will ya? I feel like I'm floundering blindly here. I feel like we didn't have enough time with him to really get to know him. A little, but not as well as I know the boys…ah, well…

Disclaimer: Only own my OCs…sadly…

* * *

**Chapter Nineteen**  
The Winchester Curse: Part I

Paige fought back her shock, hardly believing her eyes. She hadn't seen him since she was sixteen; she couldn't even be sure that he was the same person. But all of a sudden he was there after weeks; months; _years _of silence.

"Can I help you?"

The man stepped forward so h was fully in the light. He smiled at her, his eyes crinkling. They widened as soon as they fell on the little boy held protectively in her arms. The older man's face showed surprise when he realized the connection; she could see the wheels turning in his brain as his eyes flickered between her and Sammy, probably comparing facial structures, and then eye colors, finally settling on the ring on her left ring finger. It dawned on him then.

"So he _did _marry you," the man said, almost to himself.

"What the heck do you want?"

"To talk." He took a deep breath, pulling his scarred hand out of his pocket to rub his eyes. "About Dean, and what's happening in California." His eyes flickered to the agents behind her. "You can tell the FBI to stand down."

Paige stepped back, holding the door open as both Michael and Noah removed their hands from their holsters. "Come in," she suggested. "John."

John did so, stepping into the house, wiping his boots on the mat before following her into the spacious living room, eyes roaming over the various photographs lining the walls. "Good to see you again, Squirt," he said absently, rubbing his stubbled chin.

"You could, you know, _actually_ stop by sometime, instead of just briefly seeing my dad and/or leaving a phone message," she said coldly. She put Sammy down and crossed her arms, watching out of the corner of her eye as he toddled back over to where Levi was playing with blocks and sat down to join him.

"What's his name?"

"Samuel Dean," she replied, sitting on the back of the couch between Noah and Michael, who were both watching John with wary tension. "You said you know what's going on? Did he kill anyone?"

"Do you think he did?"

"Of course not. Dean would never hurt another human being, ever." She thought about that for a moment. "Okay, maybe not _never, _but he'd have a damn good reason."

"He's got a damn good reason," John said, pulling out his knife and absently twirling it around in his fingers. "This thing is wearing his face and killing people with it."

"I'd kill him," Noah grumbled, eyebrows furrowed.

"That is, if he's not already dead."

Paige's blood turned to ice. "How can you even _say _that?" she demanded. "He's not dead. He can't be. No way. Sam would have called us."

John shrugged. "If he's not dead, too, you mean."

Talk about a cold-hearted sonuvabitch. These were his _kids_.

"But they aren't. I trained them too well. After this whole shitstorm blows over, they'll lie low. Stay under the radar. They won't contact you, because it's too dangerous. Work their way back here, as soon as they know it's safe, doing hunts along the way."

Paige accepted that. If it was one weakness the Winchesters had, it was family. They were constantly sacrificing themselves. Endearing, yet annoying at the same time. "The police and FBI will be here soon," she guessed.

"Already on the way," John corrected. "They're sending agents to Cheyenne. They're driving here after that, to interrogate you. They don't have Dean yet, but they're going to try and squeeze as much out of you as they can." For the first time, he realized her bruises and the shadows under her eyes. "What happened?"

"I got stampeded by a herd of my cattle," Paige deadpanned. "Beat the crap out of me. I was in the ICU for a total of three days following my surgeries and the hospital for a week and a half."

"Ouch," he said quietly, not believing a word of it. "So what attacked?"

"Shapeshifters," Michael said, leaning his arms on the back of the couch. "Some asshole that _you _pissed off, and she and Jared had to pay for, dick."

"Blackfoot?"

"Kyle Blackfoot. His son. Some guy named Joseph killed the former pack leader, took over, attacked, and kidnapped her and Jared. Kyle killed the pack leader, collected his wounded, a left." The FBI Agent glared daggers at the seasoned hunter, his dislike evident in his expression. "You owe him a visit, by the way. And while you're at it, maybe you should give your sons a call and warn them about shit like this."

John glared back, but didn't say anything. "Just thought you should know," he said to Paige, heading back for the door. "And don't tell the boys I came. I have my reasons. They'll become evident soon enough. But not until they're ready. You promise me." His eyes bored into hers.

Paige sighed, annoyed over the demanding and bossy men in her life. "I promise," she mumbled. She jabbed a finger in his direction. "But when you tell them, I had nothing to do with it. I'll not be responsible for hurting those boys any more than you already have."

John nodded. "I'll talk to you later, Brad," he said. And then with a sad and regretful smile in the direction of the rest of the room, he left, leaving the door to slam shut behind him.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Her family had gone home, leaving only her and Ally alone in the big ranch house with the kids and the dogs. They put the boys in their rooms at around nine-thirty before heading off to bed themselves. Ally had taken the room two down from Paige and Dean's.

Paige was uneasy over the entire situation and unable to keep a hold of her nerves. Dean was a skilled and experienced hunter and a fantastic marksman, but she couldn't banish the image of bringing him home in a pine box like she'd done to her beloved brother not too long ago. She couldn't bear the thought of losing him, but her traitorous mind kept parading that image through her head, sending cold needles all the way down her body. And then she thought of giving birth, alone, and of raising her two children without Dean there. Even thinking it, she realized how hopeless Dean must have felt at her bedside all that time, waiting for her to open her eyes.

She ached for his embrace, to lean her forehead on his chest, to hear his heartbeat. She was terrified she was never going to get to do that again. And she had no idea what she was going to tell the Feds when they got here.

Just for safety, she took Klaus into the room with her. He was curled on the end of the bed atop the covers, his chin resting in her ankle and sleeping peacefully but with one ear up and alert. She took comfort from his presence, but couldn't fall asleep.

Giving up, she got out of bed and headed for the closet. Klaus watched her but didn't lift his head. She leafed through Dean's shirt racks for a moment, not finding what she was searching for. Trying the dresser next, she finally found it – the shirt he wore to bed every night. It was plain white and soft from years of constant use, and he had probably left it behind on purpose to comfort her. The gesture made her smile, and she buried her face in it, inhaling his familiar scent and immediately feeling a little more at ease. Feeling slightly childish, she put it on and curled up on his side of the bed, resting her head on his pillow.

With the comfort of his scent, she felt the first tear fall. She had her arms wrapped protectively over her stomach, shielding the life within. Despite the covers of the blanket, she was shivering. Curling tighter, she finally dropped into an uneasy sleep with her cheeks wet with tears and Klaus' warmth against her back.

* * *

Klaus' deep bark woke her up, startling her so badly she couldn't breathe for a moment before she realized where she was. She sat bolt upright, pushing her hair out of her face as Klaus shot out the door, the deep thunder of his howling bays echoing through the hallways. Someone was pounding on the front door. The silent alarm was blinking.

She shot out of bed, stumbling as her feet got caught up in her covers. Somehow – she wasn't quite sure how – she made it to the keypad. There were sixteen lights that would turn red when they detected activity. Ten of them were green. Front door, front drive, stables, back door, garage, and southern border were red. She heard the crash of breaking glass and ran out into the hall, stopping at the top of the stairs, blinded by the bright lights and flashing blue-and-red police lights.

"Hey!" she yelled loudly, running down the stairs as the front door crashed open with the crack of splintering wood. She jumped backwards as guys in SWAT gear stormed into her home with their weapons held ready.

"FBI!" they shouted.

"What the fuck are you _doing_?" she roared at them, grabbing the nearest SWAT member. "Get the hell out of my house!"

"Got her!" the guy shouted, and next thing she knew, she was flat on her back, whimpering as the hardwood floor slammed into her sore back and ribs. They flipped her over, roughly yanking her arms. Her collarbone and shoulder screamed in protest, and she laid there disoriented for a moment before getting her breath back.

"You're hurting me!" Paige yelled, struggling. "Get off!"

Instead, the FBI asshole atop her purposefully slammed his knee down on her back, right over her injury. She screamed in pain and thrashed, tears falling as white-hot agony flared up her back. The Agent behind her grabbed her by her arms and ripped her to her feet. The pain that lanced through her shoulder, collarbone, ribs, and back blinded her for a moment as she fought the blackness, the cuffs tearing into the skin of her wrists. A hand fisted in her hair as a flashlight beam shone directly into her face.

"Paige Winchester?"

Paige forced her eyes open and glared with pure hate at the guy standing in front of her, forcing herself to stop crying and ignore the flaring pain in her body. He was tall, short by her standards, but tall, about six-foot-one, she'd guess. His hair was slicked perfectly and he had an FBI vest on over his suit. He held up a badge.

"Supervisory Special Agent Dick Williamson," he introduced himself. The damn asshole was smirking like he'd just found the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

The agents in the house were tearing through everything, pulling down all her photographs and looking behind the frames, sorting through her fridge. Probably looking for Dean, the goddamn idiots. She was going to sue them six ways from Sunday.

"Are you the wife of Dean Winchester?"

"Do you have a warrant?" she demanded coldly.

His triumphant smirk fell just a little.

Before she could yell at them to get the hell out of her house, another Agent clad in FBI vest and suit pants appeared, holding a screaming Sammy in his arms. "Sir, found him upstairs," he said. "And this other woman and boy." Ally appeared, handcuffed like she was, with another agent holding a screaming Levi. This was BS. They had no warrants, no proof of anything, and absolutely no right to treat them like this.

"Let him go!" Paige shouted, struggling. Sammy saw her, holding his arms out.

"Mommy!" he screamed. "Mommy!"

"I _said_, _LET HIM GO_!" she yelled again, louder this time, right into Williamson's face. The Agent holding her binds ripped them up, painfully straining her shoulders and previously well-healing injuries, almost making her black out from the pain. She hung limply in his grasp, struggling to breathe around the all-consuming white-hot throbbing.

"And while you're at it, you can get the all holy fuck out of this GODDAMN HOUSE!" a voice roared from the doorway.

Noah.

Thank _god_.

Her cousin's partner looked like an avenging angel, even if he was only dressed in undone jeans and an unbuttoned plaid long-sleeved shirt, his hair sticking up like he'd just rolled out of bed, which he probably had, given that it was three-fifteen in the morning. His blue eyes flashed with a fury she'd never seen. With his hands fisted on his hips and his legs braced apart, muscles in his arms and chest rippling in all their glory, he looked like a warrior of God, coming to beat the hell out of the assholes that didn't belong.

"Who are you?" Williamson asked flippantly, unconcerned by his presence but a little wary of his body language.

Noah strode into the house, bare feet slapping the ground. "I'm the guy that's going to bury your career in the biggest hole I can find," he snarled, fists clenched as he bore down upon the much-shorter man. He jabbed his badge in the other guy's face. "Supervisory Special Agent Noah Clayborne, Denver BAU." He drove his finger into the other agent's chest hard enough to push him back a foot. "And I happen to know that you, asshole, have neither a warrant to search this residence nor a warrant for her arrest, so get the handcuffs off her right fucking now, or I'll break every bone in your body with my bare hands." His voice never rose above a shout. It didn't need to. He claimed everyone's attention perfectly well with his current dangerously quiet tone as he loomed over them at his daunting height of six-foot-seven.

Michael appeared in the doorway behind him, and man, did he look ready to go into orbit. He spotted Paige and felt fury arc through him like lightning. "Get those off of her!" he exploded, bearing down upon the SWAT member with unbridled fury. "She just got out of the hospital, asshole!" The SWAT member obeyed and hurriedly jumped away.

Paige's legs gave out, and Michael was right there. Her cheek was pillowed against his chest, his arms around her and tenderly holding her upright. "Cavalry, huh?" she asked weakly, voice muffled on his bare chest. He wasn't wearing a shirt at all, and was in only a pair of plain black sweat pants tied snugly around his waist. She realized faintly that he had pillow creases on his left cheek. And he was really warm. Must be a guy thing.

"Who in the hell do you think you are?" a new voice roared. "You don't come into _my town_ and arrest people without talking to me, god damn it! Did you SLEEP through the academy?"

"Yeah," Michael said, lifting her tenderly into his arms. "Friend of mine in Cheyenne warned us he'd seen a bunch of Feds. Figured they were probably going to come here. I just thought they'd wait until morning, instead of bursting in at three in the morning and breaking your front door. Noah broke just about every road law ever made getting her in the time he did, and Elliot was madder than I've ever seen him. Just _wait _until my connections get word of this…" He looked down at her, worry in his eyes. "Did they hurt you?"

She nodded. "I…I think I need to go see Pete," she admitted, as pain continued to throb.

"Alright, as soon as Noah's done, we'll take you," he promised, kissing her forehead. Her eyes watered slightly – damn pregnancy hormones.

"Sammy," she said, holding her arms out. The Agent handed him over, aplogizing profusely, and she cradled him against her chest, soothing his tears by soft songs and by gently rubbing his back. Michael wasn't bothered by the extra weight, was in fact too busy watching Noah single-handedly strip the four Agents he was currently lecturing of every ounce of pride, self-worth, and power they'd ever possessed to notice.

"So…Noah's kind of scary, huh?"

"You have no idea," her cousin replied absently. "I've seen him make murders, contract killers, assassins, serial killers, gangsters, mob leaders, and politicians cry."

"Cry?"

"Like babies. Gotta admit, I was impressed."

"So what, are you the water to his fire?"

"More like the tsunami to his inferno," Michael corrected with a grin and a wink. "No one else would take him. Our boss, Trevor Bryant, couldn't find anyone else willing to work with him. He'd driven three other Agents out the BAU by the time I got there. First day, he threw me in with him. I'd just gotten back from my last tour in the sand pit. Noah had gone home two months before I had and had been reeking havoc in our newly assigned office. Noah insulted me and fired a rubber band into my left eye the second I walked in the door, and I insulted him right back and launched an ice cube at his head that cracked on his forehead. You should have seen everyone's faces when we both just laughed and commenced to be briefed on our next case. From that minute on, we were inseparable on cases, too, not just missions back in the sand pit. Our unit jokingly refers to us as the Dynamic Duo. They didn't figure out until later that'd I'd known him my entire life."

"Sound like you guys."

Michael nodded, and then looked down at her. "You're distracting me, aren't you?"

"You _are _in a bit of a killing mood, bud, don't know if you noticed."

"Doesn't matter. There's not going to be a hole _deep _enough to bury his career in. Do you want to press charges?"

"You can bet your ass I want to press charges," she said, kissing the top of her son's head. "They scared my son and broke my door."

Something…changed. Paige wheezed and gripped Michael's bicep, suddenly having difficulty drawing a deep breath.

Michael looked down at her, his expression changing to alarm. "NOAH!" he yelled, loudly. Noah turned, looked at Paige, and stared for a minute before leaping across the space, his big hands settling under her shoulder blades and her lower back. "Take her to the hospital! Now! I'll handle this. Go!"

Noah didn't pause. He took Paige from his partner's arms as Elliot took the now-sleeping Sammy and handed him to Michael, holding her close as he headed for the door. "Make a hole!" he bellowed, and the Agents did so, getting out of the big blonde's path as he ran through the door and down the porch steps with Elliot hot on his heels. "You drive!" he shouted, heading for his vehicle, still idling with the doors thrown open. He and Michael had been in too much of a hurry to slow down and close the doors, thank God.

News vans shoved cameras in their faces and snapped pictures, and he shouldered several out of the way as he jumped into the passenger seat and slammed the doors. Elliot flipped on the sirens and tore out onto the drive, intent on the road.

"What's happening?" Paige coughed, staring up at Noah and his terrified expression. She felt funny. Heavy. Like she was under lead or something.

He was stroking the hair off her forehead and as she watched, pulled his shirt off and used it to dab at her nose. "Your nose is bleeding, sweet cheeks," he explained, rubbing circles on her wrist while he talked. "And you've got some at the corners of your mouth."

Paige coughed suddenly, and found it even harder to breathe.

"Stay with me," Noah yelled, clasping her against his chest and urging Elliot to drive faster. He knew Michael would have called in the 911 and Schmidt would be waiting for them. Dean would kill him if anything happened to her. He shook her gently when her eyes started to droop, struggling to hold her up and stem the blood flow from her nose at the same time.

She stared up at him, her vision blackening at the corners, watching Noah's mouth move. Great, twice in the same few months. Dean was going to kill her. Her entire body tingled and felt heavier than lead, now. Her chest felt heavy, constricted, like an elephant had decided to sit on her or something. She blacked out, and the next time her vision cleared she was looking into Doc Schmidt's familiar brown eyes leaning over her as something was fastened around her mouth.

"Damn it, not again!" Pete yelled. "Stay awake, Paige!"

Everything was bright now. The brightness dimmed occasionally, making her feel like she was lying on her back and flying through the trees, the dappled light alternating hues on her eyelids. She could feel pressure all over her, and then coldness as her clothes were stripped away, those warm hands pressing against her icy skin, faces blurring in her vision.

Masks. There were men with masks. And then Noah's familiar blue eyes were there, above one of the masks, his gloved fingers brushing her skin, his palm engulfing her cheek because his hands were so big. Another man appeared beside him and did something, she didn't know what, but there was a biting pain in her side and she could suddenly breathe easier again. The brown-eyed man above her smiled. His gray eyebrows and crow's feet wrinkled, that was how she knew, as she couldn't see his face.

She felt like she was floating, now. Noah's eyes anchored her to reality, as Dean's always did, but Dean wasn't here right now and Noah was a friend; it was better than nothing. She vaguely wondered how he'd talked them into letting him be there. She focused on his gaze, struggling to breathe as a tube was inserted down her throat.

Paige held despearately to that calm blue gaze until her vison narrowed, and her world faded to black.

* * *

Short one…thanks for your continued support, readers!  
And no, I don't get off on torturing my main characters. Can anyone guess what happened?

**Reviews are food for my soul.  
Press the button!  
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	20. Chapter 20

Author's Note: So, these Winchesters have sucky lives, don't they? Haha…yeah. Anyway. Now we get to see Dean & Sam's side of the story…

To my readers, I apologize for the long wait between this chapter and the last. But, I am now done with AP, SAT, and ACT testing, as well as CST testing, so I will have plenty of time to write. As a special gift for my long absence, I am going to attempt to have Ch 21 out by Tuesday. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Only own mah OC's…

* * *

**Chapter Twenty  
**The Winchester Curse: Part II  
(follows through "Skin")

**En route to St. Louis, Missouri**_**  
**__Approximately January 9, 2006_

"So, if you went to school in Stanford, remind me again why we're going to Missouri?" Dean asked grumpily, taking a huge swig of coffee. He was still pissed that they were going to a city four hundred miles behind them.

"Because that's where they live," Sam replied, rolling his eyes. "Why else?"

"I hate Missouri," he grumbled.

"Why?"

"What reason do I need? It's _Missouri_, for God's sake. It's in the middle of freaking nowhere."

"So is Wyoming," Sam pointed out.

Dean snorted. "For other people, maybe," he corrected. "It's the center of _my _world."

Silence fell, Dean thinking of his family while Sam worried about his friend in jail. Sam noticed his older brother's agitation after observing his movements for twenty minutes, paying special attention to every annoyed sigh, every shift of weight, every tap of his finger on the steering wheel. There was something on his mind. And, Dean being Dean, the only way to get down to the root of the problem was to Heimlich it out of him.

"What's with the face?" Sam said with a loud, exasperated sigh.

"Nothing."

"I know you, Dean. It's not _nothing_."

"I don't want to talk about it," Dean said, rubbing his eyes.

Well, hell. Looked like he was going to get to play the guessing game. He chose the most obvious answer as his first. "Did you and Paige have a fight?"

Dean shifted slightly and shook his head. "Not…exactly," he hedged, looking out the window.

"Then what?"

"Listen, Sam," he snapped, forcing himself to calm down. "Just…one day if you ever get married and your wife gets pregnant, witness how she acts in the first trimester, and then we'll talk."

Sam frowned and searched for deeper meaning in the words. He remembered from his biology classes that there were three trimesters to pregnancy, and that the first was often accompanied by mood swings, exhaustion, cravings, and irritability, to name a few things. That was about all he remembered. Though, she _had_ literally just gotten out of the hospital, so it might have been because she was in pain. "Does she fell better?" he asked, knowing that Paige was Dean's weak point.

"I'm afraid to touch her," quite reluctantly Dean admitted. "I don't want to hurt her. That's why we fought. It was stupid, really."

Sam wasn't sure what to say, so he said nothing at all. Dean's sex life was really not something he was interested in hearing about, especially because he now considered Paige family, and thinking about that between the two of them was just…awkward.

"Too bad we missed Christmas this year."

"Paige was in the hospital...she'll just combine my birthday with Christmas. Sammy's too young to know the difference, anyway."

Sam nodded agreement. "That's right…you're birthday is coming up."

Dean smiled and nodded. "Yep. Twenty-seventh. I'm old." He grinned. "Paige will probably throw me a bigass party again like she has every year since we got married."

"Every year? A real birthday party?"

"With presents and cake and everything. The Newbern and Knox families go all-out for holidays and special occasions. It's a big family thing."

"Sounds fun."

"It will be. All the guys come over. Wrestling, hand-to-hand combat, Rock Band, fighting over the popcorn during the movie we always watch after dinner. It's nice. To have a family like that, I mean. We never really had that as kids," Dean said wistfully, his voice far away. He looked at Sam for a silent moment before returning his eyes to the road. "You're birthday is only ten days before Sammy's, which makes her life easier. She's going to go ballistic and will probably end up inviting all your college buddies."

Sam shifted in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable. Dean had been right earlier, at least partially. His college friends really had no idea how much of a freak he was. If they knew his real life, they'd do one of three things: have him arrested, lock him in a mental institution, or run screaming in the opposite direction. Though, being normal...that did sound kind of nice. It would give him one more excuse to be around Ally and Levi. Speaking of Ally and Levi…

"Hey, uh, Dean?"

Dean knew that tone of voice all too well, and dreaded the words that would follow. That was Sam's _I-screwed-up-and-need-to-talk-to-you-about-it_ voice. Great. "Yeah, Sammy?"

"It's Sam," he corrected automatically. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

Sam was slightly startled by the immediate response, but was touched by his brother's willingness to answer his questions. Dean had always been like that, ever since they were little. No matter what, Dean had always had the answer, but he hesitated.

"Where's this coming from, Sam?"

"When we were hunting the Wendigo, and I started to ask you something but never got to finish? Do you remember?"

"Yeah."

"Well…it didn't come up in casual conversation. But…"

"Spit it out, Sammy."

"Does it make me a bad person if a part of me still loves Ally?" He spoke in a rush and more to the window than to his brother, but he could see Dean's reflection in the glass. He watched Dean look at him, his expression surprised, before his brow furrowed in obvious thought. Damn it, his hands were shaking – but he really needed to know Dean's opinion on the matter.

"Sam," Dean said gently. "Is this about Jess?"

"Partly," Sam mumbled, still to the window.

"Look, I didn't know Jessica for very long. But I know this: you knew and loved Ally first. Those people leave impressions, footprints, in your life, no matter how much you may not want them to. I've got a few myself. But I know without a shadow of a doubt that I love my wife with every part of my being, with everything that I have. She's my whole world. Jessica is gone, Sam. It's okay to still love her. But sooner or later, you have to stop punishing yourself and move on. Ally loves you. I can see it in her eyes every time she looks at you. And Levi is starting to love you, too. He's going to need a father. You deserve this second chance, after all the crap we've put up with throughout the years." The elder Winchester brother sighed and smiled, knowing Sam could see it in the reflection on the glass. "So, no, Sam. It doesn't make you a bad person. It just makes you human."

Sam's shoulders relaxed, the tension ebbing out of his body along with the guilt. "Dean…I think I'm going to marry her," he admitted, looking down at his hands. "At the very least, Levi deserves to have me, seeing as I missed the first year and a half of his life. I don't want to miss another moment. And Ally needs someone to protect her, too. Even with everything that's happened to Jess, the thought of another man raising my son makes me want to kill something."

Dean was thoughtful as he stared at the road, knowing he shared the same sentiment with Sam. He couldn't imagine anyone else raising his son, and realized with slight guilt that he'd very nearly made that a reality after Chris' death. Thank God his wife was too stubborn to give up on him. "You've got a second chance, Sammy. Take it."

"There's…something else."

He couldn't help it. He laughed. "You slept with her, didn't you?"

"How…?"

"Because I'm your big brother, and I'm awesome. I also happen to know everything. About you, anyway."

"Boxers or briefs?"

"Briefs."

"That's creepy."

"Not really. I changed your diapers."

"Creepier."

"Someone had to do it. You were an extremely difficult baby."

"I was?"

Dean nodded. "Cried all the time, at least for the first few months or so…until you forgot her and slept through the nights," he said quietly, looking away out the window.

As their mom was a touchy subject, Sam dropped it. "Well…I'm going to have to master that skill myself, I think."

"You got her_ pregnant_!"

Sam grinned sheepishly. "Um…oops?"

"OOPS?" Dean thundered, suddenly furious. "That's all you can say? _OOPS_?"

"What do you want me to say? That the condom broke? Jesus. Little too much information, don't you think?" Sam shot back. "It's not like you have a right to dictate my sex life."

"Do you know for sure?"

Sam shook his head, slightly intimidated by Dean's sudden temper. That was new. "Her appointment was today. I already asked her to marry me. She said she had to think about it and ask Paige, and that she'd tell me her answer when we got back."

Dean snorted. "If Paige can't talk her into it, no one can." He gave Sam a hard look. "And if you break her heart, so help me God, I will take out my gun and shoot you with it."

He made a disbelieving noise. "You would choose her side over your own brother?"

"If Ally is upset, then Paige is upset. And I won't have her being upset. So you better prove that you aren't going to leave Ally again. And be a good father."

"Yeah, yeah." He paused, mischief seizing him. "Jerk."

With a grin, Dean cheerfully replied, "Bitch."

Suddenly lighthearted, Sam returned Dean's grin and didn't object when his brother cranked up the music – _It's My Life _by Bon Jovi. After all, like Dean had said – he was a freak, too, and was with him all the way.

_**

* * *

**_

**St. Louis, Missouri**  
_(Same night Red Hill Ranch is swarmed by the FBI)_

Dean sat silently, staring down at the handgun held loosely in his limp fingers, eyes tracing over the pearly grip, the perfectly polished and shining slide. A gift from his father, the gun was something Dean cherished. And he'd just used it to, in a way, kill himself. Or something that looked like him, anyway.

The shapeshifter had led them around kingdom come, and gotten Dean's face plastered all over television screens for their trouble. The short term victory was that the shapeshifter was dead, Zach was out of jail, and they were blaming the murders on "Dean Winchester".

Sam sat at the kitchen's bar, sipping a beer and laughing with Becky and Zach. He was carefree and happy that he'd been able to help his friends, and was celebrating Zach's release and clearance from all charges. Zach was melancholy – his girlfriend had been murdered – but he now understood just what exactly Sam was, and what he did for the world. One less person blindsided by Sam's charm, Dean supposed.

What Sam didn't immediately realize was the far reaching concussions this whole incident would have on his life. Thousands of scenarios ran through his head. The FBI was probably questioning Paige right now, interrogating her about whether or not she knew he was a serial killer (which he absolutely was not) and would drag her to his "funeral". He couldn't call her for at least a week, just to be safe, because he didn't dare jeopardize his family's safety and well-being. He was legally dead, but he wasn't going to take any chances. Only problem was that she had no way of knowing whether the shifter was actually him or if it was just a shifter, which meant that she was going to be freaking out, the absolute last thing she needed. This pregnancy had been hard enough on her as it was, what with her being attacked and almost killed and all. At least outside of Thunder Creek, he could never be seen with her, at least until the whole incident blew over and people forgot his face. He could be buried next to his wife, as was his wish, but he couldn't have his name on his tombstone. And, perhaps the worst of all, was that he and Paige could never have any more children.

That was the most crushing. He loved being a father, of seeing a part of him flourish and grow. He looked forward to watching his son turn into the amazing person he was becoming, and he looked forward to watching all the stages of his second child's development. When they'd gotten married, he and Paige had discussed having a family. Sammy had happened right away, and this baby they hadn't expected but welcomed joyfully. They'd agreed on three…maybe four. At this point he didn't really care whether it was a boy or a girl, but he hadn't expected that they were only going to get to have two.

Dean sighed and rubbed his face. Paige was going to be extremely upset, but she would accept it and be thankful for the two they had been blessed with. And still, Sam sat and laughed with his friends. Sam, who wasn't exactly a real father yet, and who was mostly marrying Ally so that Levi would have a father figure, Sam, who had never really given up on the college lifestyle and embraced hunting. And only then, it had been revenge to push him over the ledge.

Sam wasn't exactly the "family type", after all. Hated them, to be more precise, because it was something he'd never had as a child. Or at least that was as much as he could gather from his brother's attitude over the years. But, he relented, he had to give him a chance at least.

A buzzing in his back pocket startled him out of his train of thought. He pulled one of their many phones out, read the screen, and sighed.

_Restricted Caller_

Of course.

Dean answered it and held it to his ear but didn't say anything, fearful that it was an FBI Agent or something along those lines.

"Dean?" a familiar rough voice said. "That you, boy?"

"Bruce?"

"Who else didja think, ya moron?" There was a pause and a loud noise that sounded suspiciously like a sniff. "Damn, it is good to hear your voice, boy. You scared a helluva lot of folks round here. We thought you were dead, didn't want to believe it, but it's hard to discard a body in a casket." He coughed. "Anyway, who the hell didja think this was, ya idjit? The feds? They're too dumb to keep track of all your phone numbers."

He rolled his eyes at the last comment. "What's up, Bruce?" Bruce Clayborne – Noah's father – was a lifelong hunter who worked cases in Alaska, as that was his area of expertise. He usually only called when he needed a case or when there was an emergency.

"Michael asked me to call ya."

"'Bout what?"

"Paige is in the hospital again?"

Dean's heart almost stopped. "What?" he managed to choke out.

"Nothin' too serious. Feds went to your house in the middle of the night. Were a little too rough with her, I'm told. Cracked a rib, punctured her lung. She's fine and is probably going to sue them, that is if Noah doesn't kill 'em all first. Just thought ya should know."

Breathing. Breathing was important. Somewhere, Dean knew that. But he couldn't get his lungs to obey, and sat down hard on the edge of the couch, his head in his hands while he struggled to hold it together. Damn it, this was the second time. He hadn't been there to protect her.

"She's gonna be fine, boy," Bruce said loudly, as if reading his thoughts. "Ain't a thing you coulda done to help her, either, 'cept get locked in prison forever. Take this as a blessin' in disguise."

He nodded, stopping when he realized Bruce couldn't see him. He took a deep breath and tried to calm the shaking of his hands, focusing on even breaths and slowly counting to one hundred in his head."Thanks, Bruce," he said finally.

"Don't mention it. She's being released tomorrow morning. Seems she heals at an exponential rate. I'm gonna go let her know thatcha ain't dead…ease her mind a bit. We're all going to your funeral. Should be interesting." There was a shout. "Oops, gotta go. See you soon?"

"Yeah."

"Alright. Bye."

He sighed, rubbed his face, and tucked the phone back in his pocket. Sam paused mid-sentence.

"Who was that?" he called.

"Bruce Clayborne."

"Who?"

"Nevermind. We should go."

"Right."

"Hey, look at the news," Zack piped up, turning up the volume.

"Is…isn't that your house?" Sam said, surprised.

"_Earlier this morning, the FBI hit a home believed to be the residence of serial killer Dean Winchester. No names have been disclosed but Dean Winchester was not there."_

The newscaster was far away from the home, held back by roadblocks, the reporter behind the one currently speaking yelling at Elliot over the roadblock. A blonde man appeared on the porch, holding in his arms the form of a woman before Elliot shoved the camera down.

"Was that…?" Sam breathed, shocked, the end of his sentence not needing to be finished.

"Say goodbye," Dean suggested, turning the TV off. "We're leaving."

* * *

**The button is your best friend! Click it!**


	21. Chapter 21

Author's Note: So here it is, two whole days before I promised. Probably shoulda specified that I didn't mean the immediate Tuesday, so sorry about those of you I frustrated. It _**is **_long, though, and I couldn't have typed this in two days even if I wanted to, cuz it woulda sucked. Anyway, moving on. You may get a little confused, but all this chapter is about is Paige's side of the aftermath, Dean's funeral, etc. Enjoy. It's a long one.

Anyway, argh, hating writer's block. I'm not 100% sure on a few parts of this, so sorry if it seems a bit rushed or awkward or whatever…I'm seriously considering taking Daniel's advice and banging my head against a brick wall.

Disclaimer: Only own my OCs, and of course, my portions of the storyline.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-One  
**Life's Challenges

Chest muscles ached; an insistent throbbing in tune with the annoying beep beside her ear. Her mouth felt thick, fuzzy, dry, like it was stuffed full of cotton balls. Her head throbbed uncomfortably with each heartbeat, reminding her just how much her body truly disliked anesthesia. Lead weights were apparently tied to her eyelids or something, because she couldn't open them, and goddamn it, she was tired of that feeling.

It took considerable effort, but she managed to force them open. She blinked several times to focus her suddenly blurry world, only to find herself surrounded, for the upteenthgagillion time, by bright, blinding white. She coughed, wincing at the burning in her throat, as a face came into focus above hers.

She squinted until her eyes adjusted to take in the squared jaw line, the full lips, the golden hair, and those familiar sparkling blue eyes.

"Well hello there, Princess," Noah said by way of greeting.

"Jackass," she rasped, even as he settles a hand gently on her forehead.

"How are you feeling?"

"Fan-freaking-tastic," she mumbled, trying to ignore her throbbing headache. Something cold pressed against her lips, and she opened them instinctively, accepting the ice chip Noah was offering her. It was cold in her mouth, but as it melted, her mouth felt a bit less fuzzy.

There were other voices, but her head was throbbing and her eyes became unfocused again, the voices becoming nothing but wordless noise. When they finally focus again, Pete is standing beside her bed, as are three other men she recognizes.

"Hey, sweetheart. How's the head?"

"Hurts," she said, grumpily. She eyes the doctor and Noah, who is grinning at her display of attitude, while Michael was leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest and expression smug. The fourth man was in a suit that screamed Fed, a man she recognized easily – the asshole who got her into this whole mess in the first place. "What happened?"

"Why don't we have Agent Williamson explain," Michael suggested, his tone cold, contempt written all over his face as he gazed at the fidgeting and obviously uncomfortable FBI Agent.

"Can I have a moment alone?" Williamson growled. The three men exchanged looks before shrugging.

"We'll be right outside the door," Noah said, checking him with his shoulder. "Try anything, and I'll snap your neck like a twig." The door slammed shut behind him, leaving her alone with one of the last people on earth she wanted to have to look at.

Agent Williamson fidgeted. "Ma'am," he said finally, looking down at the top of his loafers. "My name is Agent Richard Williamson. Two nights ago, or rather, yesterday morning, I followed my orders to storm your house in search of fugitive Dean Winchester." He paused to glance up at her, quickly looking at the floor again and clearing his throat. "I came through on my mission but I failed as a Federal Agent to protect innocent people, and in so doing, indirectly got you admitted to this hospital after one of my over-eager SWAT members accidentally broke off one of your ribs and resulting in it stabbing into your lung."

"Spit out whatever it is you're trying to say," she mumbled impatiently.

"What I'm trying to say, ma'am, is that I over-reacted when I shouldn't have. I humbly apologize on behalf of my superior officer, Agent Alex Paxton, and just have to say, ma'am, that I fully disagreed with his decision to detain you in the middle of the night. I was just following orders, but all the same, I really am sorry."

Paige studied him for a long moment, taking in the cheap suit, the scuffed loafers, his military haircut, and the youth in his face. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-four, ma'am," he replied quietly, rubbing his hands together and finally looking at her.

"Military?"

"No, ma'am. Military brat."

"I see."

"New to the Bureau?"

"Yes, ma'am. This is my first assignment in the field."

She shifted to alleviate her discomfort. "I…I know what it's like to be reckless when the adrenaline rush is high, Agent Williamson. Not to say that I'm not going to press charges, but I do forgive you." She pointed at the chair. "Have a seat."

Williamson obeyed, resting his hands on his knees. "You were a soldier?" he asked, curious.

"United Stated Army," she confirmed. "Now ask me whatever it is you need to ask me."

"Do you know where your husband is?"

"That is a hell of a good question," Paige sighed, thinking fast. She had to protect Dean, now. "Last I heard, he was headed for South Dakota."

"So you had no idea that he is killing people in Missouri?"

"What?" she gasped, priding herself at succeeding in being sincere. "You're lying."

"I'm afraid not, Mrs. Winchester. Your husband was found dead late last night, shot twice in the heart, and all evidence points to the fact that he is responsible for at least four deaths in the area."

Her hand flew to her mouth. "He's dead?" she gasped, this time not faking it. When did that happen? Tears pricked at the back of her eyes, filling her eyes until they slid down her cheeks. "No. No, you're wrong!"

Williamson's face fell. "I…I'm afraid not, ma'am. They are holding his service this afternoon. The Bureau has offered to pay in full to transport you to Missouri for his funeral. I…I'm so sorry."

Oh my God. Her husband was dead. She felt like a huge hole had just been blown through her chest, even as Michael and Noah rushed back into her room when they noticed she was crying. Oh, God, Sammy. What was she going to tell Sammy?

"Mrs. Winchester, I have to ask, did your husband ever hit you or your son?"

"No! Never! Not once!" she said, venom in her voice. "How dare you…you…"

"I know it's hard," Williamson said gently, "but I have to know, to finalize the investigation. Ma'am, did you know that your husband was a murderer?"

"No," she said, her voice shaking even as Michael pulled her into his side, his expression pained. This was impossible. Dean was invincible. He wasn't supposed to die, not now, not ever, at least not for the next forty years. She couldn't believe her ears, even as her mind raged against the knowledge, sending her already fluctuating hormones into overdrive.

"I think you need to leave now," Noah said coldly, manhandling the smaller man to the door.

"I understand," Williamson sighed. "I truly am sorry. His funeral is at four thirty."

Noah slammed the door in his face. "Hey, shh, no crying," she said, patting her knee. "I talked to my dad, who said he spoke to Dean last night. It's the shifter that's dead, not Dean. Don't worry."

She socked him on the arm. "Well, you couldn't _opened _on that, you jerk!" she rasped at him, still unable to yell. "God, scare me half to death! What the hell is _wrong _with you?"

"Couldn't say anything with him there, sweetcheeks," Noah pointed out, rolling his eyes. "Now, come on. Pete went off to do his rounds, but he's dismissed you for personal reasons, and expects you to come back as soon as you get home. We have to play the good family members and go to his funeral."

"Oh my God," Paige realized, clutching at Michael's sleeve. "Mikey…what am I going to tell Sammy?"

* * *

It was colder than Paige anticipated outside, and she pulled her jacket closer around her body to ward off the chill. She felt completely fine, and honestly, was looking forward to putting the hospital in her rearview mirror for a while. She would just rather not be forced to attend a funeral for her undead husband.

"Now you be careful, young lady," Pete warned, shaking his finger in her face. "No more injures. Take it easy for baby Winchester. Speaking of baby Winchester, I'll do the ultrasound the minute you get back, or have Amy do it, whichever you prefer. Take care."

"I will, Pete. Thank you, again. For everything." She hugged him. "I don't know what this town would do without you."

"Shrivel up and die," he retorted with a grin.

Paige kissed him on the cheek. "Dean owes you big time," she told him.

"He doesn't owe me a thing, just as long as you stay healthy, missy. You better be back here so I can give you a checkup the minute that you get home."

"I will."

Noah's suburban pulled up the curb and both he and Michael got out, walking over to where they stood talking under the safety of the eave. It was snowing softly and their breath made fog in the air.

"Besides, I've got these loons to look after me," she assured him, smiling as her cousin and his partner walked up. "That is, provided they haven't been kicked out of the FBI for spending so much time here instead of at work."

"We took leaves of absence," the pair said in unison.

"Though my boss wasn't happy to find out I'm cousin to the wife of 'serial killer' Dean Winchester," Michael inputted.

"And he was even less amused to find that said serial killer was one of our best friends," Noah added.

"Eh, who cares. We're not quitting the FBI or taking the heat for something we all know Dean didn't do, anyway."

"See you late tonight or very early tomorrow?" Paige asked, turning to look at the quiet doctor.

"Whenever you get in, my phone is always on," he said, lifting his hand in farewell. "And get a good night's rest!" he called over his shoulder, and with that, he turned and walked back into the hospital.

"Why don't you lay down in the back and get some rest?" Noah suggested. He got in the driver's seat, and Michael sat in the back with her, patting his thigh to suggest she was welcome to use it as a pillow. Too tired to argue, she obliged him.

It was giong to be a long drive to Cheyenne, anyway, and she might as well be comfortable.

* * *

Paige was shaky. She literally felt sick, her legs felt like jelly, and even though she _knew _that it wasn't her husband, seeing his lookalike in that pine box had brought her very worst nightmare to life and slapped it in her face.

She stood silently beside the casket, sickeningly amazed at how much the creature resembled Dean. Every little thing was the same…except for the hands. She could tell just by looking at the hands that it wasn't Dean – they weren't scarred enough, and the fingers weren't slightly crooked from being set at odd angles for his entire life.

All the same, though, it was a scene she would have preferred to avoid. The strength of her family kept her upright, her dad's arm around her waist comforting as he tried to hide his own shock at the resemblance.

The priest finally finished the last rights, snapped his bible shut, and folded his arms while they all placed their roses on top of the wood surface and the casket was lowered into the ground inch by slow-moving inch. And then it was down completely, and Paige wiped her eyes free of involuntary tears, and her family made its way off the funeral ground and back into the limousines.

Once inside, they could talk freely.

"You okay?" her dad asked gently, giving her a careful hug.

"Fine, daddy."

"It's not really him."

"I know. It just…it looked like him. That's an image I never wanted to see, and…"

"Shh," he soothed. "I know sweetheart. As soon as Dean gets home, you'll be okay again." He kissed his eldest daughter on the forehead and pulled her into his side, smiling as his over-protective nephews and cousins flexed their fists as if hoping to beat away her despair in the cushions of the limo seats. For the record, none of them had been particularly calm about the shapeshifter, either, because each and every one of them didn't want to lose Dean.

After all, he was family.

The drive back to the airport was long. He didn't even try to argue with the boys, he just gently eased her into Michael's waiting arms as the protective boy strode off for the tarmac, settling into the seat with her head resting on his shoulder. Jared limped along with Noah's help, until all thirty-eight of them were seated on the jet and on a flight back to Wyoming.

All of them thought broodily about the events of the last few days…and all of them, including Ally, wished that above anything else they could have wasted that asshole taking a dirtnap in Missouri before he'd caused so much pain to their family.

_

* * *

_

**Two Weeks Later**  
Jared's Ranch House

The Knox family ranch house was uncharacteristically quiet, despite the number of people packed into the living room and kitchen, seated at various chairs and such. Jared was finally home from the hospital, but his homecoming was darkened slightly by Dean and Sam's continued silence. No one had heard a word in two and a half weeks. The last person to have had contact was Noah's father Bruce Clayborne, who hadn't heard a squeak since and was currently occupied in discussion with Brad, his left leg bouncing restlessly up and down.

Paige was helping to bake the pounds of food for the welcome-home party scheduled to start at seven. She'd been quieter than usual the past few weeks, and her family had noticed that her baby bump was only slightly starting to show, especially with her sudden thinness.

But then, seeing Dean's lookalike in a pine box had frightened them all. That thing had looked exactly like him…creepily like him. Except for the hands, and the missing pendant Dean was never without. But other than that, the asshole could've easily passed as him. To anyone besides his family, at least.

"How's she holding up?" Jared asked quietly, watching her move about the kitchen. He was seated on the couch, supported by various plush pillows and half-covered in a light blanket. His girlfriend, Rachel Wentz, also his former nurse, had insisted upon coming along, and together both her and Paige had ordered him not to move, an order he didn't mind all that much considering how much pain he was still in. He was just happy to be out of the damn hospital.

Michael popped a carrot in his mouth, momentarily ignoring the chess game he was playing with Noah in favor of studying his cousin's cousin. He looked between Jared and Paige, taking in their pale complexions, the shadows under their eyes, and their general thinness. Apparently, neither had fully recovered from their ordeals yet.

He studied Rachel as her and Paige laughed over some joke while chopping tomatoes and peppers for a salad, noting how the young nurse's bubbly personality had been refreshing to their half-depressed gathering. With a sigh, he shrugged to answer Jared's question.

"She's not sleeping well, which is understandable. But she's strong. All she needs is to see for herself that Dean is alive. Ch-_his _death left scars on all of us, Jare."

"I know." Jared yawned and rested his head against the back of the couch, watching the sedated gathering through half-closed eyes.

Sammy and Levi were playing with blocks on the floor while Zeus snored, only his nose sticking up from his ridiculously fluffy bed. Little Abby was sitting in Elliot's lap, her wide-eyed blue gaze shifting from person to person while her father spoke seriously to Brad and Bruce. Elliot's wife, Lisa, was also in the kitchen along with Ally, Paige, and Rachel, while Noah and Michael, on the other hand, were engaged in an intense chess game on the coffee table. The rest of the family would arrive in an hour or so, and the family friends and pretty much the whole town, an hour after that.

He unconsciously followed Rachel with his eyes as she moved about the kitchen, her laugh carrying through the doorway every now and then. He smiled despite himself and felt at peace for the first time in years.

"Looks like you caught the bug," Michael said without looking up from the board, and after a long pause, took one of Noah's knights with his Queen.

"Meaning?"

"You're falling for little miss blondie in there."

Jared's mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. Giving up, he colored slightly and crossed his arms. "Already fell," he corrected, the corners of his lips pulling into a sheepish half-smile.

"Ah, man, I was kidding!" Michael groaned, slumping into the couch cushions and palming his face. "At this rate, I'm going to be the only one left single!"

"Your mom's going to start demanding grandbabies," Noah said, amusement tinting his tone. "And we all know how she gets. _Nobody _says no to your mother, not even your dad, and he's the freaking Commandant of the Marine Corps."

"Don't remind me," he muttered.

"Check."

"Shit." Michael leaned forward to figure out exactly how in the hell that had happened.

"Language!" Ally scolded as she appeared bearing chips and salsa. She glared down at Michael for his cussing in front of the children, her brown eyes stormy.

"Food," Michael and Noah groaned in unison, forgetting their chess game in favor of reaching for the chip bag.

Ally slapped their hands away with her spatula and set the chips and salsa on the table. Michael pouted at her, Noah glared, and Jared just grinned, enjoying the show.

"Marry me," Michael joked, grabbing her hand and kissing her knuckles.

"Kinda sudden, Michael, I need to think about it," she retorted.

"You, Ms. Baraldi, are a heartbreaker."

"I try." She winked and went back to the kitchen, and as soon as she was out of sight the partners started fighting over salsa rights. Michael won and grinned his triumph.

"Checkmate," Noah smirked, snatching the salsa from his partner when he leaned over the board, incredulous.

Michael socked Noah on the shoulder when he realized his partner had been faking to get the salsa. "My turn, asshole!" he sniped, trying to snatch the salsa back but to no avail.

"MICHAEL!"

"Sorry!" he shouted at once, breathing a sigh of relief when Ally remained, thank God, in the kitchen.

Noah and Michael resumed their chess game, and Jared, bored and with nothing else to do, watched their battle of wits. He observed that it was mostly them staring at the board for three minutes before making a move, and then some more staring after they'd made a move. He'd never really understood the point of chess…it was mostly a game entirely played in your head, anyway. Boring as hell. He preferred card games and blowing up shit with C4.

"Hey, Jare?" Michael said after a long period of silence, in which Noah claimed two knights, five pawns, a castle, and a bishop, and Michael claimed a queen, a knight, three pawns, and a bishop. Noah had declared Check a moment ago.

"Hmm?"

"You don't really think…that he…he…"

"No." Jared's voice was firm, spoken with utmost belief in their meaning. He opened his eyes just as Paige smiled at something Ally had said. "He wouldn't let go. She's his whole life."

"Yeah," Michael sighed, rubbing his face.

"HA! Check_mate_!" Noah cried in triumph, knocking Michael's king over with his Knight. The entire room turned to stare at him, and he just grinned sheepishly. "Uh…sorry. My bad."

"Nice," Michael snorted.

"Shut up."

There was another comfortable silence as Michael and Noah set the board back up.

"It's amazing, isn't it?" Jared asked after a while.

"What?" the FBI Agents parroted absently and in perfect unison. It was sometimes scary how alike they were.

"How much they care about each other." As Jared spoke, Sammy toddled into the kitchen and gripped Paige's pant leg until she bent down and lifted the boy onto her hip. "And about that little kid."

Zeus suddenly emerged from his bed, a feather sticking from his lip, ears pricked forward. He shot forward without warning, making it out the door to the backyard before he started barking.

Forgetting everything, the people in the house ran to the windows, upturning the chess board and kitchen table as they did so, but nobody really cared. All their attention was occupied on gazing at the fields, where Zeus was headed in a path straight as a bullet from a gun, the rest of the dogs joining him as they bounded through the snow.

Two figures on horseback appeared over the hill, cantering through the pasture while the dogs kept pace beside them.

"Just Ty and Chuck," Brad sighed, rubbing his face.

"No," Michael said, shaking his head. "Look."

Everyone got a good look at the horse up front, a familiar dark bay impossible to mistake for anyone else.

"Sergeant," Paige breathed, daring to hope as the riders drew ever nearer.

The horses were in the yard now, the riders dismounting. One, bowlegged and steady, the other, tall, lanky, and awkward, as if he'd never sat upon a horse before. When they turned, the entire room let out a sigh of relief and a whoop of joy, all at the same time, turning to hug each other.

Sam and Dean were home.

* * *

"Man, will you relax already?"

"It's been almost two and a half weeks, Sam."

"I know."

"So, I can't relax. I _can't_."

"Well, can you break a few less traffic laws?" Sam said with a laugh.

Dean was relieved more than words could describe when he pulled into the familiar drive. He shut off the engine and jumped out of the car, noticing that the lights in the house were all off. The snow was thick on the ground and it was cold.

"Where is everyone?" Sam called, shivering slightly.

"Probably at Jared's. He was supposed to be released today." Dean closed the Impala's door and headed for the barn at a brisk jog. "Come on," he shouted, waving him over. "Fastest way is to cut through the pasture."

"What does that mean?" Sam called back, chasing after him. The inside of the barn was warm and smelled pleasantly of hay and wood and some other musky scent he couldn't identify.

Dean had disappeared into one of the stalls, so his voice was muffled when he replied, "It means we're taking the horses, Sam," he said.

He hesitantly approached the stall – he'd never been in a stable before – and found his brother buckling a bridle onto the huge bay stallion, Sergeant. As he watched, his brother finished with the bridle and spread a blanket across his back before heaving an obviously heavy saddle onto his back with a grunt.

"What are you doing?"

"Cinching the girth," Dean replied, doing just that, lowering his stirrups while he was at it. "Come on, I'll put you on Taurus."

"Taurus?"

"He's Ty's horse. Used to be a maniac. Now he's calm and super easy to ride."

Sam snorted. Talk about an oxymoron.

It took Dean five minutes to get the horse ready. Taurus was a huge black Quarter Horse gelding, but much to Sam's relief his dark brown eyes were gentle. Apparently, according to Dean, he needed a bigger horse than most people did because he was so tall. And, as Ty was tall, Taurus would work. Not that the name was putting Sam at ease, or anything…

And then, before Sam knew it, he was standing in the snow holding Taurus' reigns and not having the slightest idea what to do with them or the horse in general.

Dean sighed, impatient to get to his family. "Put your left foot in the left stirrup," he instructed. "Grab the saddle horn and seat for balance, and swing your right leg over his back. But be careful not to kick him in the side with your toes."

Sam huffed in annoyance but did as he was instructed, surprised that it was a little bit harder to swing his weight up than he'd anticipated. Once in the saddle he shifted to get comfortable, unused to the feeling. He held the reins awkwardly in his hands as Dean swung up onto Sergeant's back and calmed his prancing like a pro, which, Sam realized, he was.

"Guide him with the reigns, Sam. Taurus will just follow Sarge, it's no big deal, really. We'll be trotting mostly. Just relax your hips and don't fight the motion or your butt will be sore for a week."

Sergeant set off at a brisk trot, Taurus following close behind and slightly to the side. At first, Sam bounced all over the place, wincing and fighting the movement, until, eventually, he relaxed and moved with the horse. That was much easier, and eventually he got the hang of it and just enjoyed the scenery. Wyoming was like a different world when it was white and sparkling.

"How's it goin' back there?"

Sam smiled and tried to ignore the increasing stabbing pains shooting through his backside and thighs. Riding a horse was not as easy as it looked, and the saddle was as uncomfortable as hell. "Fine," he managed to grind out past his teeth knocking together.

"Reeeeelax," he suggested, dropping his reigns. "Guide him with your hands." He moved his own hands in demonstration, not even watching where his horse was going, keeping him moving forward with only his legs. "Horses read your body language through your seat and your hands. Just like a baby, Sam, if you're tense, he's going to be tense. It's hard and awkward–believe me, I know–but just relax."

Sam forced a smile and struggled to do as his brother had instructed. Eventually, thank God, a barn appeared, and the horses slowed as they halted outside of it. Dean dismounted and immediately led Sergeant into the warm protection of the building, while Sam struggled to dismount.

Dean came to his rescue, holding Taurus' reigns as Sam dragged himself off the great beast's back, forcing himself not to groan as he did so.

"I can teach you how to ride tomorrow, if you like," Dean offered.

Sam would be surprised if he could get out of bed in the morning. His legs felt like jelly and the only thing keeping him upright was the stirrup he was currently clutching. He hobbled painfully forward as Dean led Taurus into the barn, using cross-ties to keep the horse stationary in the isle.

"Keeps 'em from rolling," Dean explained, as Sam noted that Sergeant and Taurus were on opposite ends of the barn from each other, and out of biting reach of the other horses in the stable, who watched them sleepily with ears pricked forward, probably hoping for lunch or food of some sort. While Dean did his thing Sam held his knuckles out to the nearest horse, a gentle-looking gray with dark brown eyes who breathed softly on his fingers.

They were majestic creatures, he supposed. Gentle enough, too, or at least Taurus and this one were. He wasn't so sure about Sergeant. He almost fell over when Dean slapped his shoulders, eager to get inside, aware that the barking dogs would have alerted Jared and the others to his presence.

Dean strode out of the barn, scratching his dogs on the head; they all licked his hands, their tails wagging at mach ten, they were so excited.

While Dean was busy with the dogs, Sam took a moment to study his surroundings. He'd heard plenty about Jared's ranch, but he'd never actually seen it. The ranch house itself was as huge and sprawling as Dean and Paige's, two stories, and lit up like Times Square in the falling dusk. The doors suddenly flew open and people poured out onto the porch.

A whoop rose from the house as people poured down the porch and ran for them, throwing their cowboy hats in the air as they charged through the snow toward the brothers.

"Hey!" Dean called, laughing as Michael tackled him into the snow, laughing like a fool.

"You bastard, I knew you were alive!" Michael laughed, grabbing him in a headlock and ruffling his hair.

"Yeah, well, sorry to disappoint," he replied with a grin, trying not to fall on his face when Noah's hand slammed between his shoulder blades, the force behind it enough to knock him off balance.

"God, it is good to see you, boy," Brad said, grinning hugely as he knocked Dean's hand aside and gripped him in a bone-crushing hug.

Dean was surprised, but touched by the gesture. He looked over Brad's shoulder. "Jare! You're outta the hospital!"

Jared grinned weakly, supported on both sides by Rachel and Ally. "Yeah, this morning," he informed his friend.

Gently shoving the women aside, Dean grasped his friend in a hug, releasing him to hold him by his shirt and shove a finger playfully in his face. "Don't you _ever _do that again, ya hear?"

"That's a promise I'll do my best to keep," he said, slapping Dean's cheek. "Man, words cannot describe how relieved we are. Why didn't you call?"

"I called Bruce," he defended himself.

"And why is that, ya idiot?" Bruce grumbled, from his vantage point beside Brad, standing with his feet braced apart and arms crossed over his chest.

Dean shrugged. "Couldn't risk calling the family, not with the FBI there, you know?" He looked around, his edginess coming through. He looked at his father-in-law. "Where is she?"

"On the porch," Brad replied as Ally and the others caught up and mobbed Sam, overwhelming him with their enthusiastic welcome.

He held his hand up to shield his eyes from the last rays of the setting sun, and then he saw her, standing on the porch, her arm wrapped absently around a post as she watched the scene below, and the strain of the last three weeks melted away. He bounded up the steps two at a time, capturing her face in his hands, staring into that familiar blue gaze.

"Hey," he said with a soft smile, and then he was kissing her, and everything melted away. There was no more panic, no more fear or anger or resentment. Even with the cheering from below, he focused only on the woman he held in his arms.

Paige kissed him back, holding onto the front of his jacket to keep herself upright as her knees went weak, and she became dizzy from lack of oxygen. There was pent up and anger and passion in the kiss, until she coaxed him to calmness, so that his lips became gentle, tender, against hers. The heat of his calloused palms burned her cheeks. She hadn't really believed that the horrible funeral was fake until the moment she felt his solid warmth and strength enveloping her. The lingering fear that the shapeshifter had killed Dean vanished; shapeshifter or not, nothing could mimic his scent.

When he pulled away, she could breathe again. His forehead rested on hers, eyes closed as he struggled to control the emotions whirling around in his head. "Do you believe it now?" he whispered, knowing where her mind would be.

She tucked her face against his neck and relaxed into his embrace, nodding the affirmative. His heartbeat was steady within his chest, even as the tax of everything overcame her and – damn her hormones – she felt the first tears leaking down her cheeks.

Dean's hand snaked under her shirt, rubbing comforting circles on her lower back. The emotional setback would be daunting – for a time, at least – but he wouldn't trade it for the world. He could hear Sammy and Levi inside, and closed his eyes in profound relief that his family was whole again.

The roar below increased, and both Paige and Dean turned to look down at their family. Sam was on his knee, grinning up at Ally, and as they watched she threw her arms around his neck and he spun her in a circle. The couple smiled, knowing that Ally had finally accepted Sam's proposal.

He rested his cheek on the top of her head, pulling her close while the family mounted the stairs in renewed celebration, Ally held in Sam's able arms. They smiled at each other and shared a chaste kiss.

It was good to be home.

* * *

"So are you mad at me?" Dean asked Paige, unlacing his boots and kicking them away into the pile containing his shirt, jeans, and tank top. His wife was in the bathroom brushing her teeth, hair already braided.

Paige appeared, ready for bed and rubbing her eyes tiredly. "Mad?" she said quietly, sitting beside him. She glanced over to see him nod. "I don't know. Maybe." He scooted to the end of the bed, pulling her into his arms, where she found herself straddling his lap, arms around his neck.

"You know something?" he said quietly, undoing her braid and unwinding it so that her hair fell loosely around her shoulders in golden ringlets.

"What?"

"I know how you feel. The not knowing."

She tilted her head sideways, eyes narrowing in curiosity.

"Bruce called me to tell me you were in the hospital," he explained, slowly unbuttoning her over shirt and easing it off of her shoulders. "I could barely breathe. God only knows how I kept it together. I didn't know any details. I didn't know if you were alive or dead. For weeks, it was like that." He kissed her shoulder, pulling her closer. "The not knowing, it almost drove me mad. Sam and I hunted, but I was distracted, playing million questions inside my head." He sighed, absently rubbing her back. "So you aren't alone. And I am never, ever going to go through that again, ever."

"I never said I was alone, Dean," she whispered, running her hand through his hair.

Dean stood, her legs wrapped around his waist, kissing her as he turned off the lights and somehow made it back to the bed, lowering them both onto it, never once breaking the kiss. He edged her shirt up inch by inch, until he broke the kiss and moved downward to nuzzle their baby.

Paige sighed as shivers cascaded up her body, reaching up to stroke a hand through his hair again as she leaned over to turn off the last light. She pulled him back up to his proper place and kissed him.

"I love you, Dean Winchester," she told him softly, running her hands up his arms to his shoulders, stopping at his neck to pull him closer, loving the feel of his muscles and warm skin dotted with raised scars under her hands.

He kissed her gently on the forehead and removed her shirt entirely. "Love you, too."

* * *

Sam was on cloud nine, feeling…content. It was new for him. Ever since Jessica…well, contentment hadn't been a way to describe him. Tense? Angry? Volatile? Yeah. But content? Hell, no. He'd been like a volcano on the verge of erupting since November. But now, he was peaceful.

And he owed it all to one person.

Ally.

She was currently sleeping with her head pillowed on his bicep, dead to the world. The faith she had in him was humbling – she wasn't a hunter, but she sure as hell didn't trust many people. Even though a part of his heart – okay, most of it – still belonged to Jessica, he vowed to do his best to love Ally, Levi, and this baby with the part he had left.

Baby.

Damn, he still couldn't believe it. his hand was settled over her stomach, gently cradling that new life, hardly able to believe that he and Ally had created another miracle, another little angel. He kissed the top of her shoulder and dozed off again, peaceful with the two of them cradled in his arms.

"Mmm," Ally mumbled, shifting slightly, pressing her body closer to his chest. He thanked God for the fabric separating them, otherwise, he'd be in trouble.

It was completely dark outside, well into the morning hours by now, but he couldn't sleep. He was afraid that if he did, he would wake up to Ally on the ceiling, bleeding from her abdomen before the fire incinerated her body. He shuddered mentally at the thought. So _not _something he wanted to think about. He didn't deserve her, but she'd chosen him. didn't make him any less afraid, though. So far, every woman in his life had been taken, except for Paige; but then, she was Dean's, not his. Not that she'd ever claim to be owned by anyone, or at least that's what he thought, anyway.

His mind was far too occupied with worries and thoughts to allow him to sleep, so he allowed his mind to wander, lulled into a calm state in-between the void of sleep and the shock of waking, his body shutting down while his mind continued to race. He was worried about many things.

But mostly, Sam was worried about Dean. Or, more specifically, how in the hell he was supposed to tell his brother that lately, he'd get terrible headaches and see a vision-dream, and that not two days later, those dreams would come true. His brother already thought him a big enough freak as it was. He didn't need to add to it.

On the other hand, if he _didn't _tell his brother and Dean found out some other way, he would be royally pissed, and if there was one time Dean was absolutely scary, it would be at that "pissed to high-hell" stage. He wasn't afraid of much, and he would never admit it, but his brother was scary in those moments. It was because of those moments that people were so unwilling to cross him, and, Sam knew privately that he was pissed especially when someone threatened him. He had to admit, having such a super-overprotective big brother _was _pretty awesome. At least he could always count on backup. That is, as long as Dean wasn't pissed.

Sam sighed. Thinking about this was going to drive him crazy. He heard something next door that he truly, really did not want to identify – not that he could complain, as he and Ally had been…erm…busy, too, earlier – he blocked out the sound and curled closer around his fiancé. He kissed the side of her neck, forced his mind to blankness, and then, blessedly, fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

* * *

"Daddy!"

"Hold on, Sammy," Dean said patiently.

"Huwwy!"

"Hurry, little dude," he corrected absently. He and Sammy were walking the horses back to the stable. Or rather, he was walking Sergeant and his son was holding the end of the lead rope, grinning from ear to ear because he thought he was walking the huge stallion all by himself.

"Not too fast, Sammy," he warned, mindful of his son's general klutziness.

Sammy tipped his head back to look up at him, little round-cheeked face serious. "Wha peepa?" he asked, tone curious.

Dean ruffled Sammy's honey-blonde hair. "It's my birthday today, buddy," he explained. "All the people are coming for the party your mommy planned for later."

"Oh." Sammy nodded solemnly, curiosity abated and back to business, marching down the path with Sergeant quietly following beside Dean's right shoulder. They made it back to the barn–finally, it was flippin' cold outside–and put Sergeant back in his stall. As Dean unbuckled his halter, the stallion bent his head to the boy's and blew softly into his hair, ruffling it and gently nuzzling his forehead.

Sammy giggled in pure delight, kissing the end of his velvety muzzle, at the softest spot, right between the stallion's nostrils.

Dean smiled and patted his stallion's neck affectionately. Sergeant may constantly test _his _patience and ability, but damn, that horse became as gentle and docile as a baby lamb whenever Sammy was in the vicinity.

"You want to sit on his back, bud?" he asked.

Sammy grinned and held his arms up. Dean grinned back and swung him up onto Sergeant's broad back.

"But you have to hold on tight, okay?"

"Kay!"

Sergeant started to doze off as Dean brushed his coat until it was gleaming, starting with his neck and moving methodically to the stallion's haunches. Sammy sat wide-eyed, afraid to move, until he realized that Sergeant didn't dare to even shift a foot because he was on his back. As soon as he realized that, he relaxed, his smile bright and wide, one hand clutching tight to the stallion's black mane. He placed his other hand on Sergeant's neck, fingers splayed wide. Before Dean could stop him, he leaned forward until his cheek was resting against the horse's neck, too.

Dean paused mid-brush, watching to make sure his son wasn't going to fall. He needn't have worried. Sergeant swung his head around to gently nudge Sammy upwards so that he was square on his back and less likely to fall off. The little boy just blinked sleepily and reached out to pat him on his forehead.

"Warm," Sammy mumbled, hugging Sergeant as far around the neck as his arms would go.

Dean nodded agreement and kissed his son tenderly on the forehead. "Tired?" he whispered, rubbing noses with him.

"No, Daddy."

"Uhuh. So you're just checking your eyelids for holes, then?" he teased. It was past Little Sammy's naptime, and he knew his baby boy well enough to know that he was tired as hell. All his son did was nod as his eyelids slowly fluttered shut. Not three seconds later Sammy's body went lax, fitting to the contours of the stallion's back as he succumbed to sleep.

Dean chuckled softly and continued to brush his stallion. The work was familiar and methodical. Sergeant checked on Sammy every once and a while, until eventually falling into a light doze himself. When he finally finished grooming him, Dean stroked the expanse of Sergeant's broad forehead, fingers tracing over the diamond of white in the center of his forehead.

"Thank you," he whispered, smoothing Sergeant's forelock. His horse snorted softly and pressed his head into Dean's chest, silently asking for an ear scratch. Dean obliged, calmed by the peacefulness of the scene.

"I'll see you at dinner," he promised his stallion, patting his neck in farewell. He lifted Sammy into his arms, gave Sergeant a final pat, and left the stall, latching it behind him.

Ty was leading Paige's stallion Colby down the isle as Dean left the stall with Sammy on his shoulder. The ranch hand tipped his hat in greeting.

"He fall asleep again?" Ty asked.

"As always," Dean replied, tiliting his head at the boy, passed out on his shoulder, arm limp and swinging with his walk.

The ranch hand laughed as he passed by, toward Colby's stall at the end of the isle. "I'll be inside as soon as I finish up the grooming," he called over his shoulder.

Dean was pleased to discover that it was slightly warmer outside than it had been an hour ago. Still, though, it was bloody cold. He checked Sammy's pocket for the hat he knew would be there and pulled it onto his son's head to keep his ears warm. He counted his steps out of pure boredom as he trudged up the path to the house, up the porch steps, and into the kitchen.

Warm air greeted him. Paige glanced up from the cookie dough she was mixing, disturbed by the sudden blast of cold air. "He fall asleep again?" she asked with a fond smile as soon as she saw Sammy slumped on Dean's shoulder.

Dean grinned and nodded, removing his and Sammy's gloves and hats. "Sarge is a better babysitter than Ally. Puts the kid out like a charm every time." He kicked off his snowboots and unlaced Sammy's one at a time, gently tugging them off his son's feet. When he couldn't get the second, Paige momentarily abandoned her cookies and walked over to unlace it and ease it off his foot, kissing the top of his head and brushing a hand over Dean's. He smiled at the caress and bent down to kiss her forehead. "I'm going to go put him down for his nap. What time is your appointment?"

"Two," Paige replied, brushing a stray lock of her hair out of her face, annoyed that it had escaped her braid. She was back with the cookie dough, spooning little balls onto a giant cookie sheet.

"With Pete or Amy?"

"Amy. It's a routine pregnancy checkup."

He nodded. "I'll be right back," he promised, heading up the stairs. He passed Ally halfway up, grabbing her arm to stop her. "Are you home this afternoon?"

"Yep." Ally smiled and patted his cheek. "I'll babysit him. It's not a problem. After all, it _is _your birthday."

Dean nodded again, satisfied, and continued up the stairs to Sammy's nursery. The room was familiar and near and dear to his heart. He gently lowered his son onto the changing table and stripped off his extra-warm snow clothes in exchange for Sammy's favorite dinosaur pajamas.

The next time he lifted him, Dean realized he was getting heavier. He set him down in his crib, watching him roll over onto his stomach, arms sprawled wide. "Love you, baby boy," he whispered, kissing his cheek. He cracked the nursery door behind him and headed back downstairs to the kitchen, stripping off his snow jacket as he went.

"On the hooks," Paige called from the kitchen.

He grinned and shook his head. He'd been about to drop it on the floor. She knew him too well. He did as she'd ordered before heading into the warm kitchen, rolling up his sleeves past his elbows as he went in case she needed help with anything.

Paige was just pulling the first batch of cookies out of the oven. She set the pan on a cooling pad, re-closing the oven after putting in a new pan of unbaked cookies.

"Stop drooling," she teased, tweaking his nose.

"They smell good," he defended himself, grabbing her waist to pull her towards him, kissing her neck and wrapping his arms around her waist.

"Hmm." She leaned back against him and folded her arms over his.

"So…?"

"So, what?"

"Do we want to know?"

Paige thought about it for a long time. The kitchen was silent, the only noise the occasional dull thunk from upstairs. "Yes," she said finally. "I do. You don't have to, though." She rested her head on his shoulder, eyes closed as she struggled to formulate her thoughts into words. "After all me and this baby have been through, I would like to have an idea of what to expect. I don't know. I can't really explain it."

He kissed her neck again, nuzzling the sensitive spot just beneath her ear, smiling when she gasped despite herself. "Then we'll find out," he whispered huskily. "Either way, I won't mind. But I think we may follow the Winchester tradition."

She cocked an eyebrow. "'Winchester tradition'?" she echoed.

Dean just grinned. "We'll see," he said vaguely.

"Oh, the mystery." Paige groaned and pressed her face into his neck. "For the record, you suck."

Ally appeared in the kitchen, tying her hair back. "I'll hold down the fort," she promised. "Now get going, so you aren't late."

Sharing a smile, Dean and Paige did just that.

* * *

It was a busy Saturday in the maternity ward. They signed in and then sat in the far back, waiting for their name to be called. Paige only recognized a few of the women in the room, which most likely meant that most of them were out-of-towners coming to the nearest functioning hospital outside of Cheyenne.

Thirty minutes later, she was on the table waiting for Amy, passing the time by working mentally through the schematics of a UH-60 Blackhawk helicopter.

Dean held her hand, squeezing it gently and kissing her knuckles. "What are you so worried about?"

"I want the baby to be healthy," she whispered back.

He stood to hug her, pulling her against his side. She pressed her face into the fabric of his shirt and took a deep, shuddering breath to get a hold of herself. His head snapped up when the door banged open and their harassed-looking sister-in-law entered the room, closing the door firmly behind her.

"Hey, Ame," Paige greeted her with a smile, holding out her arms. "Come give me a hug."

Amy stepped gracefully into the embrace. "Thank you," she sighed as she pulled away and dragged her stool to Paige's bedside. "I needed that. It's been a hell of a long day."

"Annoying people?" Paige guessed.

"Hit the nail on the head," she confirmed, starting up all the equipment. "Plus, Johnny had baseball practice this morning and Sydney isn't feeling well, and Chris got in a fight with the twins and hurt his head, which doesn't exactly help the stress factor very much."

"You _can_ come over more, you know." Paige's voice was gentle. She put her hand on the doctor's arm. "You aren't alone in this. Any time you need me to watch the kids, just ask. I'd love to spend more time with them."

Amy smiled and brushed a tear from her cheek. "Thank you. Really." She cleared her throat. "Well, let's get this over with, then, so that I can go home and get the kids rounded up for Dean's party."

Paige made an expression of discomfort while Amy worked. That discomfort was forgotten the moment the monitor picked up the tiny, thrumming heartbeat and the image of their tiny baby.

She instinctively squeezed Dean's hand harder, as did he. "Wow," she breathed, her eyes filling with tears as she grinned. She grinned ecstatically at the screen, and knew her husband was feeling the same euphoria.

"There's baby Winchester," Amy said with a warm smile, squeezing Paige's other hand gently. "Do you want to know the gender?"

Dean and Paige nodded in unison.

"Congratulations, you're having another little boy," she announced with a smile. "And he looks healthy."

"Really? Promise?"

"Promise. We ran every test we could think of while you were recovering from your punctured lung. Everything came back normal. In fact, better than normal. Amazing, to be exact."

"A little boy?"

"One hundred percent positive."

Dean laughed out loud and kissed his wife with renewed joy. "I love you," he announced. Paige just laughed and closed her eyes to focus on that precious heartbeat.

Amy wiped her hands on her scrub pants. "So I'll see you two tonight," she said. "I've got idiots to take care of." She kissed Dean on the cheek and hugged Paige. "Take a few minutes to talk it over. I'll post my nurse Rosie outside so you aren't bothered."

"Thanks."

The room was silent now that the monitors were turned off. Paige put her normal clothes back on.

"Are you mad?" she asked, curious by his silence.

"About what?" Dean seemed startled by the question.

"That it's not a girl."

"Are you?"

"No, of course not."

"Then neither am I."

Paige breathed a sigh of relief. "Are you sure?" she pressed. She was staring at the ground as if it was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world to study.

Dean grabbed her face and held on, forcing her to look at him. "Positive," he said firmly, his eyes dead serious. She nodded, and he was slightly startled when her eyes filled with tears again. "What's wrong? Why are you crying?" She didn't reply, just closed her eyes. "Hormones?" he guessed.

"Partly." She sniffed but didn't open her eyes.

"And the other part?"

"It's not fair," she whispered, her voice breaking.

"What's not fair?" When she didn't answer, he sat beside her on the bed and pulled her into his arms. "Talk to me, baby. Please. What's not fair?" Unsure what else to do, he rubbed her back and prayed she wouldn't stonewall him.

"That we only get to have two."

Oh, God. This was exactly the conversation he didn't exactly want to have, but knew they needed to have it. "Is that why you're crying?" he pressed.

She nodded; he could feel it against his collar bone. "It's stupid and selfish," she said in a small voice.

He cupped her chin in his hand and forced her to look up at him. "You are not selfish or stupid, Paige," he said angrily. "Don't you ever say that about yourself." He continued to rub her back when she fell silent, so silent, in fact, that the only noise he detected was that of their quiet breathing and his own steady pulse of blood rushing past his ears.

Paige sighed, startling him. She'd been quiet for a while, now. He'd sort of grown used to the silence. "I just never thought we'd be forced to stop at two, that's all. It's not fair."

"Do you want to have _more _than two?"

"Maybe," she said against his neck, her unusually warm cheek pressing against his neck when she shifted so that her body was closer to his. "I'd just like the choice. That's all."

Dean pulled her pretty much into his lap and shrugged. "So we'll have another," he said simply.

She looked up at him, startled. He mentally gave himself a high-five. At least she was looking at him now. "Are you forgetting that you're legally dead?" she demanded, as if she believed he'd suddenly had a screw go loose.

He shrugged again, practically tossing her in the air. "So? It's not like the FBI actually cares about me, anyway. I'm dead, remember? What reason would they have to look us up again?"

"Well, I don't know if you've noticed, but they're sort of freaks like that," she replied, her tone dripping with sarcasm. He praised himself again; she was acting more like herself the longer she talked, something he was thankful for. Honestly, he enjoyed their verbal sparring matches.

Dean just flashed his trademark smirk.

"So, let me get this straight. You're willing to have another child–even if you are legally dead–and damn the consequences?" Her eyebrows were so far up her forehead they were practically in her hairline. He privately thought it was adorable.

"'S the way I roll, babe," he said with a grin and a wink. She just stared at him, open-mouthed. He placed her back on the bed next to him and stood. "Now come on. There's a shitload of presents at home with my name on them." He waggled his eyebrows at her and held out his hand. "And maybe something later tonight, in celebration for your upkeeping of the Winchester tradidion of two sons."

Paige took a deep breath, suddenly feeling cleansed. He'd given her the option she'd wanted and soothed her fears of any restrictions. It never ceased to amaze her how well he excelled at putting people at ease. She accepted his offered hand, threading her fingers through his, and, laughing despite herself, followed him out the door.

* * *

Don't hate me, peeps. If you've seen the recent season of Supernatural, you may or may not understand, but it's sort of implied that the two sons rule is important. Don't worry. There will be another baby...just not quite the right time for her to drop in. Sorry to those I angered...but this was my plan all along. Stick with it, and you'll be happy. Promise.

To all my reviewers, thank you. You keep me inspired. ;D

**PLEASE REVIEW!**  
**The more I get, the faster I write!**


	22. Chapter 22

Author's Note: Quick update...yay! *pats self on back* Anyway, hope it was worth the short wait. We get back to the action and mystery, now. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: All I own is my OCs, peeps.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Two  
**Sins of the Father

**Seeley Lake, Montana  
**January 24, 2006

The wind tore through the forest, screaming through the towering pines, the bark creaking and groaning in protest to the violent movement. But for the wind, the forest was silent; too silent. There were no wolves howling tonight; no grazing deer; even the people stayed inside, where it was safe, as if sensing that something was very, very wrong.

And they were right.

Silence made her skin crawl, and it was crawling now, even as she fought to stay up in the tree she'd perched herself in. It was the best place to do surveillance, in a place like this. She shifted her body slightly; full aware that the branch she was lying on would more than hold her weight. She'd picked the sturdiest tree in the area; it wasn't even shifting in the wind. She wasn't so sure about branches higher up, however, or the movement of the trees around her.

She just hoped that a damn branch wouldn't knock her one hundred feet to her death, because wouldn't that just make her day…

With a sigh, she rolled her shoulders to alleviate the tension and breathed evenly through her nose, ducking her face back to her rifle scope. The night vision allowed her to see what her abnormally-sharp vision could not.

There was a cabin on the island in the middle of the lake. The lake itself was partially frozen, and many of the residents of Seeley Lake had fled south for the winter to escape the bitter cold, all except for this family, apparently.

Racking her brains for their names, it took her a moment to remember fully. The father was Matt Sailor, a simple man from humble roots, and a Real Estate Agent for northwestern Montana. He lived in their massive cabin with his wife, Emily, and his two sons: Matthew Junior, age three, and Nicholas, age one. They also had a dog, a giant Mastiff, whose name she currently couldn't recall.

She scanned each of the windows, searching for movement. The house was dark, and rightfully so, as it was two in the morning. In one of the bottom windows, she spotted a dog bed, and zeroed in on it, searching for anything out of the ordinary.

Something was wrong with the floor.

Zooming the scope closer, she had to pause a moment before her eye could pick up the details: white marble tile; wooden cabinets; white dog bed; brown Mastiff, head lolled off to one side. Red floor…wait. The floor was supposed to be white, not red. She scanned the floor again, determining that it was, in fact, a puddle of a thick, red substance. And it didn't take a genius to know, especially considering the demon she had tracked here, that it was blood.

That damn bastard had killed the dog, which meant he was already in the house, using the father as a host. The dog would recognize demonic possession – which is why the dog had been killed.

Anger swelled up inside of her, threatening to seize control. She sucked in a deep breath and focused with all her might.

_NO! You will never control me! _she raged at it.

_Someday, I will_, a voice in her head cackled madly. _Only some time now, 'til your daddy give me premise…_

_SHUT UP!_

Blessedly, it did shut up. _Buzz_. She blinked, startled that the random name had popped into her head. General sadness overcame her for a moment as she realized that had been the Mastiff's name: Buzz. As in Buzz and Woody, from _Toy Story_.

She felt sick. There were two little boys in that house. She had no clue what her father wanted with the younger one, either…he'd already succeeded with whatever that had been. Apparently he had some unfinished business to attend to, or maybe he just needed to rip people to pieces. Damned if she knew.

Taking another deep breath, she systematically scanned every window on both floor, searching for anything out of the nursery…the boys were in their rooms, unaware of the danger, and on the mother slept…she scanned back, and gasped in surprise.

The boys were gone, and so was their mother. She had no idea where the boys had gone, but saw the mother slowly ease herself back into bed.

Oh, God.

He was in there with her.

Her breathing escalated as adrenalin surged through her body. As she watched, helpless to do anything, the possessed man stood, walked around to the side of the bed, and dragged the woman free of the covers. She forced herself to watch as the woman was brutally murdered and mutilated, and the father disappeared out the door.

She ripped her cell phone out of her pocket and hit speed dial two, frantically tapping the tree branch with her fingers while it rang. When it finally picked up, she was slightly deafened by the noise, before the other side fell relatively quiet, the noise in the background.

"_Hello?"_

"Hey, it's me. How fast can you get your FBI boys up to Montana?"

**

* * *

Thunder Creek, Wyoming** - Red Hill Ranch  
January 24, 2006

Dean parked the Impala in the driveway and waited for his wife to get out and walk around the car. He held out his hand, and she accepted it, and together, they ambled up the snow-lined path to their home, talking softly all the way.

"I can't believe we're having another boy," he said quietly, not really needing to talk very loud. He leaned down to kiss the top of her head, and pulled her into his side just because he could, arm wrapped around her shoulders.

Paige wrapped her arm around his waist in turn, grateful for his warmth. "Neither can I," she said with a slight laugh. She peered at the door as they neared it. "How much you wanna bet the whole clan is already in there, waiting for the news?"

He thought about it for a minute. "Nothin'," he admitted. "You win, I can already tell."

"On three?" she teased, gripping the door handle.

"One, two…"

She pushed the door open before he even voiced the last, grinning impishly at him.

A roared greeting awaited them. Paige had been right. Pretty much her entire family was packed into the spacious living room. A flood of kids came charging at them, all with cries of joy, some yelling, others just laughing.

Paige was ready for them. John reached her first, slamming into her almost hard enough to knock her over, his little five-year-old arms constricting around her along with his joyful cry of "Auntie Paige!"

"Hey, dude," she greeted him, hugging him back, even as the Sydney and Katelyn tackled her, as did Sammy and little Chris, Theo's boys Blaine and Sawyer, and pretty much every other kid in existence, including her own son. "Alright, inside, inside," she ordered, gently pushing the mass back through the door. John still hadn't relinquished his hold on her, and was instead on her back, chin on her shoulder as she stood up straight and hoisted him up higher, where he'd be less likely to fall.

"Happy Birthday!" several people called, waving to Dean. He thanked them, waved back, and scooped up his son, resting him on his shoulder as he shook hands with his wife's family, grinning all the while. He spotted Sam and Ally in a chair in the corner, quietly watching the party around them.

Sam looked slightly overwhelmed, which was understandable, seeing as he'd probably never been in a room with this many people in his life.

Dean was used to it, though, and set his son down so that he could go off and play with the other kids. He found himself in his usual group, as Paige headed for the kitchen to help with dinner, John still perched on her back. He smiled at his friends, clapping several of them on the shoulder, and taking the beer that Theo offered him.

It didn't take long for them to be on the topic of hunting. He talked every once and a while, laughed at funny jokes, and truly enjoyed spending time with the unique group of fourteen: Theo, Michael, Jake, Elliot, and Jared Knox; Raymond, Kyle, Joshua, Daniel, Michael, and Tanner Brent; Cameron and Spencer Shaw; and last but not least, Noah Clayborne. They'd been his friends since he'd first come to Thunder Creek, and all of them were family of his wife, except for Cam and Spence, who had been friends of the family since birth and were practically family, anyway.

"Too bad Chris isn't here," Cameron sighed, shaking his head. "Miss him."

"Yeah, we all do," Kyle replied, saluting them with the neck of his bottle. "Too bad he had to go down that way."

"Like a hunter," Dean argued, taking a swig of his beer. "Fought to the end. Good man."

"Good soldier."

"To Chris," the group said in unison, clinking their bottles together.

"So, Dean, heard you got a new weapon."

Dean grinned. "Birthday present from the wife," he admitted.

That got their interest, especially considering all of them, except for the youngest, Spencer, and Dean, were former or current military. "Oh yeah? What is it?" they demanded, curiosity piqued.

"MSG3 Sniper Rifle."

The boys whistled appreciatively.

"So…who's up for trying it out?"

* * *

"You might want to get ice packs ready," Amy warned as she entered the kitchen holding Chris on her hip.

"Ice bags?" Rachel and Paige said in unison, exchanging surprised glances. "Why?"

"They're taking Dean's new rifle out back for target practice, which I think we all know will lead to combat fighting on the lawn."

"Snow."

"Lawn, snow, whatever. Either way, there's gonna be some black eyes."

Paige sighed, shaking her head. "Black eyes already, and it's not even dinner yet," she grumbled, pulling out a box of Ziplock bags and taking the ice tray out of the freezer. She sat at the bar and began to pack ice into the individual baggies, good for storage to be used later.

"Men," Rachel sighed, helping with the ice-bagging. "Idiots. All of them."

"Indeed," Amy agreed, setting Chris on the counter, handing him an ice cube to entertain himself, and proceeding to help with the bagging, as well. Lisa, Ally, and Theo's wife Michelle sat on the counter to help, as well, chatting softly while the food cooked.

"Hey," Paige protested suddenly as a glint of silver and sparkling gem caught her eye, grabbing Rachel's left hand. "Planning on announcing that?" She pointed to the ring glittering on her left ring finger.

The woman squealed in unison, all leaning forward to see the ring. Rachel blushed bright red and laughed, trying to pull her hand back.

"That brainless oaf never mentioned this to _me_," Paige protested, shaking her head. "So, when did he propose?"

"Last night," Rachel confessed, grinning happily.

The women all laughed, hugging her to profess their happiness.

"Hearts are breaking wide open all over the world tonight!" Lisa said, giggling despite herself. "Oh, the women are going to be dismayed to learn Mr. Hottie is off the market!"

Ally punched her gently on the arm. "This from Mrs. Elliot "Hotstuff" Knox's wife," she snorted.

"Why does everyone call him that?" Lisa demanded, throwing up her hands.

"Face it, ladies," Paige said, continuing to pack the ice. "We're surrounded by ridiculously hot men. Try growing up with them. If I had a dollar for every time some random girl asked me for their numbers, I'd be a billionaire."

Rachel, Amy, Lisa, and Michelle frowned, eyebrows knitting together.

"I don't know whether to feel complimented or threatened," Lisa admitted with a half-laugh.

Paige just shrugged and grinned. "Welcome to my family," she said nonchalantly. "And for the record, there's a reason that Michael's nickname is Adonis…and the rest of the guys aren't much better. 'Cept for maybe Theo. He was the only normal one."

"Gee, thanks," Michelle said dryly. "Again, should I be offended?"

"Not in the least. I'm just saying. They're all too 'hot' for their own good. Family vacations were a nightmare."

"I can imagine," Ally said with a grin. "What's the worst memory?"

Paige thought for a moment. "That would depend. Which side of the family?"

"Which side is worse?"

"Equal. Pick a side…mom or dad. Knox or Newbern."

"Okay…Newbern."

"My aunt Tina's got tons of kids…the boys are crazy, always have been. They decided, at this family reunion, that it was going to be all-out prank war. They got steadily better day by day, too. By the end of the week, half of them had either hair dyed odd and random colors or no hair at all. All of them had been dragged down to the water in the middle of the night and thrown in. My uncle had banned them from the kitchen and they'd been condemned to sleeping in tents outside, in which case, there were strange creatures appearing in their tents at all hours of the night; snakes, lizards, birds, skunks, possums, squirrels…you name it. And, all of them had these weird itchy rashes they refused to acknowledge. It took them until the last day we were there to figure out that Chris had put itching powder in their underwear. God, they chased him through the forest for hours, but never found him. They finally got him when they got back…by putting Nair in the Jacuzzi and neglecting to mention it to him. Gotta say, it's the loudest I ever heard him yell, which is saying something."

"And the combat fights?"

"Every damn trip where there's more than two of them." Paige smiled at Rachel. "Don't worry, you'll get used to it. We sort of just sigh, pull out the med kit and the ice, and pray they don't do something stupid, like get eaten by a Grizzly or fall off a cliff."

"How quaint," Rachel sighed. "Your family is nuts."

"Maybe," Paige conceded with a grin, "…but it's pretty fun."

"They started," Michelle announced, pointing out the window.

Pulling up chairs, the women turned off the kitchen lights to watch from in front of the wide windows as the men faced off, most of them bare-chested. There was nothing quite like watching two men go at each other for physical dominance. They spun around each other, trading blows, occasionally flipping each other onto the ground, honing each other's skills and teaching the younger boys new fighting techniques.

An hour passed by before they knew it, the party continuing behind them, the fighting outside.

"Would it be wrong to say that turns me on?" Michelle wondered, watching Dean and Theo face off.

"Not at all," Paige sighed, resting her chin on her fist, watching with pride as Dean flattened Theo easily, before Theo knocked him off balance and they were wrestling in the snow, rolling as they fought for the dominant fighting position.

"Where'd he learn that?" Amy wondered, watching Dean finally defeat Theo using a move too quick to follow with the eyes, but which had Theo flying through the air before landing flat on his back.

"God only knows…John, Chris, my dad…the list is endless," Paige sighed as Dean helped her cousin to his feet. "Don't worry. Keeps them on their toes, having to fight so many different styles."

"No kidding..."

Rachel just shook her head. "Did I mention this is crazy?"

"Welcome to the family," the five women said together.

All Rachel could do was laugh.

* * *

Dean's entire gathering – all sixty-seven people – had condensed in the dining room at the giant-ass table that stretched the entire span of the room. The kids had their own separate table, seating nineteen, some in highchairs, some not. It was a Christmas/Birthday gathering…the presents had been awesome (Rock Band, Xbox, knives, combat boots, riding equipment, and a dirt bike), and now for his favorite part.

Dinner.

As usual, the women had gone all-out. Steak, pork, ham, mashed potatoes with gravy, honeyed rolls, stuffing, yams, green bean bakes, deviled eggs, cranberry sauce, olives, homemade fruit Jello…everything he loved, all on the same table. And he knew in the kitchen was fresh and homemade vanilla ice cream (compliments of Paige's grandma Sharon); apple, cherry, blueberry, pumpkin, and pecan pie; strawberry, blueberry, and chocolate cheesecake; sugar, snicker doodle, gingersnap, and chocolate chip cookies; a three-layer cake for his birthday; and white-and-dark-chocolate-dipped strawberries.

Damn, he loved family. Not only because they were awesome…but also because they were damn good cooks. They held hands for a brief prayer – not exactly something he believed in, but it was the tradition, so he didn't complain – and started passing food around the table.

The family and friends dug in, hearty conversation flitting across the table, split up into groups. Laughter rose above the clamor, as did the occasional angry yell of one of the kids, at which case a parent of said angry child would stand to rectify the problem. All in all, it was pretty much chaos. But it was awesome.

He had a family.

That never ceased to amaze him, even as Paige passed him the honeyed, golden, fresh-out-of-the-oven buns.

Before he knew it, dinner was over, and it was time for dessert. The entire gathering was set up in the family room again, this time on blankets, pillows, couches, and chairs that had all been moved to circle the giant seventy-four-inch plasma screen Dean had gotten for his birthday from Brad. Kids, adults, and elders spread themselves out accordingly, most of the elders taking the couches, while the adults and kids sprawled on the floor, easily able to see the TV.

"Birthday boy gets to pick," Paige announced as she helped to pass out deserts. She'd enlisted the help of the other women and the older kids, who went around taking orders and bringing them back to the servers, who then dished out the requested item and had them walked out, to avoid the chaos of sixty plus people crowding into the kitchen.

Dean pulled her down beside him. "Let them do the work for a change," he suggested, even as the majority of people present started calling out suggestions. Paige just smiled and used his shoulder as a pillow. "_Cinderella Man_!" he yelled over the noise. "And that's FINAL!"

"Aww," several people groaned.

"It's a good movie," he defended himself. "And it's my birthday. So cry me a river."

"But what about the kids?" someone yelled. "Is that movie appropriate?"

"Damn," he swore softly, rubbing his eyes. "Fine! _Robots _then!"

Michael opened his mouth to argue.

"Don't even, Mike. It's a kid's movie."

"Alright, alright," the room conceded, as the lights were dimmed and the bowls of popcorn dispensed evenly among the gathering of people.

"Sammy, come 'ere, son," Dean called, waving him over. He settled him between his body and his wife, smiling when Sammy yawned and wiggled to get comfortable, tucked between his parents where he felt safe.

"Wait, before we start," Ally yelled suddenly, pausing at the opening credits. "You never told us the gender, guys."

"It's a boy," Dean called, laughing when the cheering started again. "Alright, alright, calm down. There's a movie to watch, people, come on. Celebrate this tomorrow." The room quieted as the movie was played again, the only sound the occasional child's sniff or shift of weight.

The ground was comfortable, covered in blankets and pillows as it was. Dean leaned back against his pillow stack, warm and content with his full belly and his family beside him. Sammy was partly leaning against his opposite shoulder, Levi tucked between him and Dean, with Ally's head in his lap, using his thigh as a pillow.

"How's the face?" Paige whispered in his ear.

"Hurts," he admitted, working his jaw. "Theo's got a mean left hook."

She snickered, muffling the noise into his shoulder as the movie started to play. "Only adds to your ruggedness," she admitted.

"Oh, don't go there, woman," he whispered back. "I can't think about that right now. Stop it." He was grinning, though, as he kissed her.

John tapped him on the shoulder. "Shh," he protested. Amy just laughed into her hand and mouthed 'sorry' at Dean.

"Okay, okay, buddy," Dean whispered, poking him playfully in the ribs so that the boy giggled and leaned back against his mom. It never ceased to amaze him that the five-year-old was the spitting image of his best friend: tall, even for his age, with dark hair and blue eyes, and a frame that suggested he'd be tall and broad-shouldered, just like Chris had been. He looked away at the painful thought, back to the movie, yawning as he did so.

The phone rang, and Paige excused herself to get it.

Her voice was clipped, and loud enough to make the adults crane their necks to see what was going on. She hissed at whoever was on the line for at least a minute, before the phone smacked back onto the cradle and she appeared in the doorway, scanning the room for Michael and Noah. She found them already looking at her, and waved them over.

Michael and Noah moved deftly and quietly through the room, careful not to disturb anyone, and met her in the archway, where she was waiting with their shoes, badges, and guns.

"What's up, baby cakes?" Noah murmured, accepting what she shoved into his hands.

"String of murders," Paige replied. "Eighth family so far, in Seeley Lake, Montana. You guys will be called in momentarily…the police called to request the nearest BAU - the Colorado office."

"Montana?" Michael repeated, all business now, strapping on his gun and badge.

Paige nodded. "Seeley Lake," she confirmed. "Be careful." She kissed both of their cheeks, just as both men's phones rang. They answered, spoke quietly for a moment, and hung up, nodding that they had in fact been called back to duty a week earlier than planned.

"We've been called back to duty," Michael said, hugging her. "Take care. We'll keep in touch. Looks like there are two little boys missing."

"Go," she urged, walking them outside. "I'll explain where you went. Drive safe. And watch the roads, they get icy this time of year."

The agents waved goodbye, running off to their black SUV, heading out as soon as the doors slammed. She waited for the tail lights to disappear down the drive before she sighed and headed back inside, praying that those missing boys were okay.

_They'll be fine, sis_.

Paige jumped. Chris? She hadn't heard his voice in her head since the whole incident with the water tank, where her and Jared had almost died. She wondered slightly why his voice cropped up so randomly…and realized she was probably crazy for hearing it in the first place.

_Not crazy,_ Chris said gently. _Just more…aware…of the other side. That's all._

_Of course I'd tell myself that…it's called denial._

_Maybe, sis. But I'm here, aren't I? Though I'd prefer to not show my form…you'd just shoot me._

_Are you saying you're a ghost?_

_Not…exactly. _He paused, as if in thought, which was crazy, because he was in her head._ But I _am _here._

_Yeah, and not real._

He fell silent, but she could feel amusement. She didn't know how, but she just…could. She sure as hell wasn't amused, so it wasn't _her _feeling that way. A suddenly warm breeze brushed her cheek, and for a second, she thought she could see him, until she shook herself and headed back inside.

* * *

Oh, the mystery. Any guesses?

**Review! (**_**Please**_**?)**


	23. Chapter 23

Author's Note: I'm on a roll…anyway, sort of a busy chapter, but what can ya do, it's plot development…and it's long. Enjoy. To all my reviewers, again, thanks a million and **I LOVE YOU ALL**! You keep me inspired. :D If you get confused, feel free to PM me, but I tried to clarify it the best that I could. Sorry for the long wait...this chapter was extremely difficult to write, as it introduces a new character who is going to be a recurring character throughout the rest of this saga. I truly hope that you enjoy it, so without further ado, onto reading we go!

I will do my absolute best to have the next out by this time next week...

Disclaimer: All I own is my OCs, peeps.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Three  
**Well, This Sucks

_The street was silent. Too silent, so silent, in fact, that a pin could have been heard dropping from ten feet away. The men moving silently down the side street realized how much trouble they were in, but kept pushing forward anyway – because that's what a soldier does, what a police officer does, what an FBI Agent does. It's in their training, their mentality, their being._

_Snow slowed them down somewhat, footfalls slow and careful to avoid crunching. Two columns moved up the silent street, the men systematically checking each side alley as they neared the dock at the end of the way._

_Two of the agents were easily recognizable – one at his towering height of six foot seven, the other slightly smaller; but the two moved as if from the same DNA base, the same being, covering each other as they moved, being each other's arms, eyes, and ears. They made it to the end of the last building on the row and stopped._

_The taller lifted a hand to form a fist, and the line of men halted, some dropping to their knees to cover the ground they'd already moved across. Not one made a sound, waiting for their leaders to give the next orders. The two teams, separated by the yawning open street between them, flashed hand-talk back and forth at each other, communicating with military hand signals and their own private signs and keys._

_In the middle of the lake they faced was an island, and on that island was a cabin. In that cabin was what they were wasting all this energy for. Two little boys – Matthew, age three, and Nicholas, age one – were missing, presumed to be inside the house somewhere. Hopefully, not dead._

_Only problem was they faced a group of at least four demons who had amassed upon the property in the last two hours. Their simple number made the agents pause…how in the hell they were supposed to get across the frozen lake without being noticed was a hell of a good question, as it was posing quite a problem at the moment. Anything they would have done normally was not an option, because the kids were trapped inside…_

_An hour later, as soon as night fell, they headed off silently across the lake, trusting in the ice to keep them steady, going only over the parts they knew for sure were thick enough to support their weight._

_The attack had begun._

XXX

_The closet was quiet and cramped. The two little boys inside barely dared to breathe, waiting for their mommy to come back. She'd shoved them in here and told them to be extra super quiet, so they'd obeyed. The elder had the younger partially in his lap, watching the door, knowing that it wasn't supposed to open because that's what his daddy had told him once, long ago. He was almost four. Only two more days, now, and he'd be a big boy. Little Nicky was still tiny, though, and had fallen asleep using his fist as a pacifier._

_Why hadn't mommy come back? She'd had tears on her face. She hadn't said why, though._

_Both little boys jumped when something suddenly banged loudly on the door. Nicky was awake and crying now, so Matthew pulled him back into the corner and sat in front of him, trying not to cry when the door was finally kicked down._

_A man stood there, with black eyes._

"_There you are, you little brats," he growled. He lifted something black, which clicked._

_The bang of the gunshot was deafening, followed by silence… the younger baby simply stared up at the demon, eyes wide. It chambered another round, pointing it at the silent' child's head._

_BANG._

Sam snapped awake, chest heaving, his head feeling as if it were being split in two. He quickly disengaged himself from the covers and staggered to the bathroom, gasping all the way, managing to wet a towel and press it against his eyes as he curled into the corner of the room, waiting for the pain to recede.

Damn, that one had been vivid. He didn't even know what the hell had been going on…but he'd recognized Noah and Michael, easily. Noah was sort of hard to miss, what with him being an even bigger Sasquatch than himself and all. He drew deep, shuddering breaths, waiting for his heart rate to calm.

Montana.

He and Dean _had _to go to Montana. Two days, max…that was usually all the visions gave. Sometimes even less than that.

Not caring that it was two o'clock in the morning, or that it was snowing outside, or that Dean would be grumpy as hell, he stumbled into the dark hallway, his hand on the wall as he somehow managed to force his legs to move forward.

_Four…five…six…_

Seven steps down the pitch-black hallway, and he was at the doorway to the room his brother shared with Paige. He pushed the door open and staggered inside as another blinding pain stabbed his eyes.

"Dean," he groaned, loudly, as he collapsed, no longer able to keep himself upright. He curled into a ball as wetness seeped out of his nose. Ah, damn it…Paige was gonna be pissed – he was bleeding all over the floor. At his strangled groan, a figure sat bolt upright in the bed at the end of the room, something silver glinting in his right hand.

"Sam!" Dean cried, gathering his wits and leaping out of bed. Sam had no idea how, but somehow Dean was leaning over him, pulling him into an upright position, one hand on the back of his neck, the other between his shoulder blades as he hauled him against his smaller frame. It was somewhat comforting, to be braced against his brother. Now, he just needed to get the words out that they needed to get to Montana.

"Jesus, Sammy, what's wrong?"

_Crash…door open…crying boy…BANG. NO! _his mind screamed. _NOT AGAIN! PLEASE, not again…_

Sam blinked furiously and silently cursed his rigid jaw, clamped shut from the strain of his massive headache. He struggled to differentiate from his surroundings and those from the dream, unsuccessfully attempting to push aside the sight of that demon killing those poor little boys.

Paige was up now, too, and clicked on the light.

The light was like needles into his brain. He moaned and thrashed in his brother's grip, trying to turn his face away as agony ripped through his temples. A strangled cry of pain escaped him, just as Dean yelled something he couldn't make out…or maybe said something…he couldn't tell, his ears were ringing and his vision was fuzzy…

"Migraine," Paige commented as she clicked off the bathroom light. He heard running water, and then something cold was on his face.

"Another nightmare, Sam?" Dean asked quietly, gently wiping the blood from his face and stemming the flow with the soft towel. "Talk to me, Sammy. What's wrong?"

"Dean," he rasped, struggling to focus on his face through the white orbs concealing his vision.

"Right here, Sammy," his brother reassured, his strong long-fingered hand gently but surely kneading the tension out of the base of his skull.

"Montana."

"Montana?" Dean repeated, continuing to work out the knots in his neck and shoulders. Before Sam knew it, he could somewhat see again.

Sam's hand clamped down on Dean's forearm with bruising force, pulling Dean's upper body closer. He was somewhat able to focus on those familiar, comforting features. Dean would understand. Dean always understood, no matter what. He drew a gasping breath, and with it, exclaimed in a choked voice, "We need to go to Montana."

And, seeing the genuine panic in his gaze, Dean didn't argue.

* * *

**Seeley Lake, Montana  
**January 25, 2006

The Impala roared through the snowy countryside, stopping only once en-route to northwestern Montana. The brothers arrived at their destination about sixteen hours after leaving Wyoming. It was dark out, and still, like most cold winter nights this far north.

"Where are we?" Sam grumbled from the passenger seat, zipping up his jacket, cold despite the steady flow of heat from the Impala's vents.

"Salmon Lake, Montana," Dean replied absently, scanning the area with his binoculars. "It's just south of Seeley Lake. Didn't want to go in guns-a-blazing without knowing what we were getting ourselves into."

"Good plan," he sighed, rubbing his face.

"So, another vision?"

"Yeah," Sam admitted quietly.

"Like last time?"

"Worse." Sam sighed again, rubbing his face harder. "I…I was panicked. We have to save those kids, Dean. They're so little."

"I know, Sam. If anyone can find them, Noah and Mike can."

Sam was already shaking his head. "You didn't see them, Dean…they were utterly isolated. Alone. And surrounded by demons, with nothing but a bunch of guns and bullets to protect them," he admitted, looking down at his hands.

Dean shrugged. "You've never seen those two in action, Sam. Believe me…if anyone can make it out alive, they can. They're tough as nails. Stronger than hell. And they never give up." He shot his brother a sideways glance. "I once saw Noah make a weapon out of a leaf, a sharpened stick, and a piece of grass. They'll be fine." He frowned. "How do you know that, anyway?"

"Visions…not exactly perfect, but close enough." Sam closed his eyes and leaned against the cool glass of the passenger window, exhausted.

"Hmph." Dean was still skeptical about the whole freaky psych-vision-coming-true thing, but he'd seen it first hand, so…yeah. Believable enough, he supposed.

"Hey, Dean?"

"Hmm?"

"When we find them…what are we going to _do _with them?"

Dean frowned, confused. "What do you mean?" he pressed, frowning in thought.

"Well, I mean, they've seen _demons_," Sam pointed out, eyebrows raised. "Watched their parents and dog get murdered by them, in fact. They can't exactly expect to live a normal life after that. They'll always remember; people will label them crazy, and eventually, they'll end up in a mental hospital."

His frown deepened as he realized his little brother's solid point. He scratched his head as he struggled to think straightly. "So…we'll put 'em up with a family in TC," he said with a shrug. "All the same, let's worry about that after we find them, okay?"

"Okay, okay, fine." His shoulder slumped. "I just want to find them."

"We will, Sammy," Dean promised, stowing his binoculars and opening his car door. "Now come on, we've got a job to do."

XXX

Five hours and three cups of coffee later, Dean was ready to kill someone.

He was up to his ass in snow – literally – and the locals had no more idea as to what the hell was going on than he did. Gritting his teeth to stem his frustration, he did an about face and stalked back into the police station (more like a freakin' closet) to glare daggers at one of the town's two deputies.

The deputy glared back.

"You gonna tell us what in the hell is goin' on here, son?"

"Don't call me son," Dean snapped, downing the last of his coffee, and glancing around for another pot. If there wasn't another damn pot he was gonna shoot something, preferrably the stupid stuffed deerhead leering from the wall. "Where do you keep the coffee in this shithouse?"

"Back counter."

Dean grunted and didn't look up until his cup was full and he was feeling somewhat normal again. He glanced up to see the deputies watching him, the sheriff currently having an argument in his "office" with Noah, Sam, and Michael – it was comical enough to watch. The little room was _maybe _six-by-seven feet, and that would be generous. The three towering men were squashed into the side of the room without the desk, and the sheriff was whacking his hand flat on the desk to illustrate his point, while the three "FBI" Agents glared at him.

Okay, Sam wasn't _really _an FBI Agent…but with Michael and Noah there, with legit badges and the haircut and clothes to prove it, it's not like it was that far of a stretch.

Noah suddenly stepped forward, one finger raised in a threatening manner, and the Sherriff shrunk away, paling visibly. Apparently, the giant had gotten his point across, because not three seconds later the door crashed open with an ominous boom and the occupants stalked out into the silent station.

"Verdict?" Dean asked, the question aimed at Noah, who emerged first.

"You and Sam come in from behind, across the ice. Our team will go from the north. You got a watch?"

Dean nodded, taking it off and handing it to him. He watched while Noah synced their times, before handing it back. "What do you want us to do?"

"Go through the woods, come up from behind. The water is shallower on that side, the ice should be thick enough to hold you. We'll distract them by attacking at exactly five forty-five in the morning. Exactly, Dean, so be ready. You find those kids, if you can, and bring them out. Can I trust you on this, Dean?"

"I've been doing this way longer than you, Noah," Dean said evenly, one eyebrow raised. "Damn right, you can."

Noah nodded. "Then I guess I'll see you out there."

Dean waved Sam over. "Come on, Sam," he said, leading him out the door.

Sam followed him, shoving his hands in his pockets as the frigid air blasted them. "The plan?" he urged.

"The FBI's attacking at five forty-five AM. So that's when we attack. Get in, get the kids, waste any demon who gets in our way, and get out."

"And what do we do until five forty-five, Dean? It's only three."

"Well, Sam, guess we get to wing it. Got any cards?"

* * *

Paige sighed and rubbed her eyes, staring gloomily out into the falling snow. She loved Wyoming, but could honestly do without the winter. She downed two glasses of water, wincing as the liquid stung her abused throat. To be honest, the whole morning sickness part of being pregnant really sucked, especially because hers tended to be hours before the crack of dawn, naturally. Pretty soon, he'd be kicking her, too, as if the barfing wasn't bad enough. But then she'd have two little green-eyed devils to chase around, and that thought brought a tender smile to her face.

"Mommy?"

She turned to find her son standing in the doorway rubbing his eyes, green eyes bleary as he stared up at her. His left cheek was pink and had wrinkles from his blanket there were tear streaks on his cheeks. She was surprised to see him up so early in the morning – it was only four twenty-five.

"Come here, baby," she whispered, holding her arms out.

He gratefully moved into them and held onto her tightly.

"What's the matter, Sam?" She rocked him gently, rubbing his back, knowing that, like Dean, he would eventually tell her what was bothering him. Or at least he would try to. His vocabulary hadn't quite expanded to conversations yet.

"Monster."

"Monster?" she said quickly, looking down at him. "Where?"

Her son pressed his hands together as if praying and laid his cheek on them.

"In your dreams?" Her shoulders sagged with relief when he nodded. "What kind of monster?"

"Bid."

"How big?" she whispered, rubbing noses with him.

"Bidder dan Noah," he mumbled, sniffing and rubbing his eyes again. "E twied eat Lebi."

Paige smiled and sat down, settling him in her lap, smoothing the hair off of his forehead. "He tried to eat Levi? Well, that's not good. What happened then?"

Sammy's eyes brimmed with tears, and she hugged him. "E eat Daddy," he sniffled, snuggling into her embrace.

"Oh, Sammy," she breathed, kissing his forehead. "Nothing's going to eat Daddy."

His wide green eyes–Dean's eyes–fixed onto hers, filled with trust and hope. She hated to lie to him, but Dean wasn't about to let himself get eaten, anyway. Sammy's lip wobbled as her silence increased.

"Nothing," she emphasized, rubbing his back again. "He's going to be home in a few days. If he's not too busy he'll probably call this afternoon."

"Miss him."

"I miss him, too, sweetheart. But he's going to be just fine, and he'll be home as soon as he can."

Sammy nodded and finally relaxed, his cheek pressed against her collarbone. She watched with a tender smile while his eyelids drooped slowly shut, until he was asleep. She savored these moments, knowing one day he would be too big for hugs and kisses, but she didn't care. She'd give them anyway, but it wouldn't be the same with him squirming. Sighing, she rested her cheek on the top of his head, knowing that one day her little boy was going to be all grown up…but as for now, he was still her cuddly, sweet, cheeky, and loving little baby boy.

Her cell phone rang, and sighing, she snatched it off the table, sparing a glance at the number before taking a deep breath and answering it, hesitantly raising it to her ear.

"Hello?" she said softly, so she wouldn't wake her son.

"_Hey."_

"So? What's going on?"

"_Your FBI boys drive very fast…I'm still running surveillance. Demons."_

"Lovely. Be careful. I'm not there to cover your sorry ass."

"_Believe me, I know." _There was a short pause and a shuffling noise. "_Could use your help."_

"Sorry…married with kids. Gonna have to wait till this baby is at least six months old before I hunt again, and even then, Dean probably would protest."

"_You shoot better than he does…"_

Paige rolled her eyes. "Not true," she sighed, rubbing her eyes, pinning the phone between her cheek and shoulder. "You up in a tree or on a cliff?" She smiled at the disbelieving snort that came through the phone.

"_Tree. Damn, girl, you're good."_

"Hmm. I hunted with you for what…two years? I should know by now." She paused, biting her lip. "Do me a favor and cover Dean and the boys, would you?"

"_Whatever…and you figure out when you're gonna get back out here."_

"Bye, Brennan. Keep out of sight."

"_Yeah, yeah, mother hen. I'll call you as soon as I know more. Later, Newbern."_

She hung up the phone and placed it back on the counter. "Come on, Sammy, let's put you back to bed," she murmured, standing with him in her arms. Halfway up the stairs she changed her mind and went to her and Dean's room, curling up in the armchair beside the fireplace with Sammy in her lap.

The silence in the house was nearly deafening. She heard the soft padding and click of nails on wood, and the warm press of fur on her feet as Zeus curled up and went to sleep using them as a pillow.

As selfish as it was, she missed her husband.

* * *

The forest was quiet now that the wind had momentarily died down. She shifted again, eye remaining glued to her scope as she ignored the stiffness of her limbs and the hard, uncomfortable surface of the tree branch she was lying on. Her phone had been set beside her left hand on the wood, silent now that she had hung up on her old hunting partner.

It was times like this that she really missed hunting with Paige. Sure, she was a good shot, had good instincts, whatever. But in a stakeout when there was literally nothing to do but watch people, or in this case boring-as-hell demons, having someone to talk to really made the time fly, and it wasn't quite as torturous.

This, however, was torture in the purest degree. The demon had just left the woman's mutilated body upon the floor, her blood long since having spread to most of the floor. That, though, honestly didn't bother her. She just wanted to know where those damn kids were. And she was bored out of her goddamn mind.

Below her came an extremely faint noise. If her hearing hadn't been so enhanced, she never would have heard it. She shifted her body so that she could peer downwards, her keen senses not needing night vision. Down below her were two men, creeping silently through the snowy terrain.

Well, mostly silently. The smaller one was being so quiet she couldn't even hear his footfalls. The taller one, however, had tripped on a tree branch and rubbed against a tree for balance, hence the scratching noise she'd picked up. She smiled when the smaller turned around, his face upturned to the larger, who was topping the crest of the hill.

Dean Winchester, she'd know that face anywhere, and particularly the glare he currently pointed at who must be his brother, Sam. She shook her head as they crept down the hill, both of them silent now, before hunkering down right beneath her, beside the massive trunk of the tree she was lying in.

Well, this was going to be easy. Paige had asked her to look out for him, and here he was, literally right beneath her nose. She watched them spread out the camouflage blanket, knowing that Dean was observing the scene through his rifle scope, just as she was.

With a smile, she returned to her work as well, wondering if the demons knew that the one they sought was literally less than half a mile away from them. Her whole life, it had been _Sam Winchester this, Sam Winchester that…_it was all the damn higher demons talked about. Sighing quietly, she winced at her discomfort and went back to watching, waiting for her bastard of a father's cronies to make their first mistake…

* * *

Dean was officially in a homicidal mood. He was lying on a mat of pine needles and what not in a bare spot of the forest, with snow on all sides of him, covered in a ghillie-suite-type blanket currently making he and Sam appear part of the natural wildlife. The cold had crept into his bones, making him stiff, and the cold metal of his MSG3 rifle was just about frozen to his glove. His eye socket was numb from being pressed against the scope for so long, and damn, did it hurt. But so far, nothing in the house had changed, except for the two additional people who had showed up. He recognized them from the crime scene photos as two of the missing fathers from the other seven murdered families in the region.

Sam shifted beside him, his body warmth somewhat thawing Dean's right side. "I can't feel my ass, Dean," he grumbled, wincing at the painful stiffness in his entire body. "What time is it?"

"Four thirty."

"Shit…" he sighed, trailing off, pillowing his head on his folded arms.

"Don't fall asleep," Dean warned without looking at him. "First step to death in a place like this." He glanced over at his brother, relieved to see his eyes open and lucid, currently rolling towards the heavens at his obvious comment. "What time did you say the demons killed the kids in your vision?"

"Sunrise," he answered, yawning and stretching slowly so he didn't shift the camo blanket too much. Bored, he stared at its structure. "Did you make this?" He peered at the net-like fabric, infused with spray paint and bushes and whatnot from the region.

"Chris and I made tons of them," Dean replied, returning to his scope. "He was a bit of a flyboy, not so much a sniper, but he was a damn good spotter."

"Where'd you learn to snipe?"

"Bobby, Pastor Jim, Brad, and Bruce Clayborne."

"Big blonde guy? Noah's dad?"

"Yeah. He's a former Delta sniper. Probably the one who recommended this rifle for my birthday present."

"Why? Doesn't Paige know rifles?"

Dean smiled. "Yeah. But she knows my favorite is the fifty cal, which is technically illegal, and extremely loud. That's a shoot-and-run type rifle. Bruce probably figured I'd survive better with this one." He shrugged. "Knew I wouldn't complain, either, because she got it for me, so I love it by default. I really do love this rifle, though."

"Sorry your birthday got cut short…" Sam murmured, yawning again. The whole laying partly-downhill thing was starting to feel sort of weird, but Dean seemed perfectly comfortable, minus the whole frozen ass.

"Its fine, Sam. I got through dinner, presents, and most of the movie, so it's all good."

"It was nice. Weird, but nice." Sam sniffed and rubbed his cold cheeks to bring warmth back. "To see that many people who knew about what we are, all in the same place at the same time, celebrating the same thing."

Dean shrugged. "We're very community oriented," he said, without looking at Sam. "It's the easiest way for the families we leave behind to cope."

"Like the military?"

"Yeah, kinda. Except that our women know and have done what we do, sometimes along with us."

"Along with you?" Sam pressed, surprised, reading into his brother's words. "Paige went hunting with you?"

"Yep," he replied, flexing his fingers to alleviate the stiffness. "Damn good at it, too. I've never seen anyone to top the hand-to-hand skills of the Newbern and Knox families. It's frightening sometimes how far they go to protect each other. She's saved my life more than once."

"What made her stop?"

Dean shot him an incredulous look, amazed at the denseness his brother sometimes displayed when his mind was half-frozen. He rolled his eyes and grinned despite himself. "When a man loves a woman, Sam, sometimes there's a baby…" he mocked.

Sam winced. "Right, sorry," he muttered. "Not thinking. Too damn cold. Got any coffee left?"

He handed his brother one of the two canteens. "Careful," he warned. "No idea where Paige found those, but they keep liquid hot for hours."

"Thanks. What's in it?"

"Milk and two sugars."

"How quaint," Sam sighed, taking a sip, appreciating the scalding heat that spread from his stomach to the rest of his body. He sighed, content. "Much better. Didn't you and dad used to drink soda on stakeouts?"

"Yeah, Diet Coke," Dean answered, taking a sip from his own canteen. "I figured out from the Newberns that coffee works a helluva lot better, especially during winter."

"Do you think we're going to find dad, Dean?" Sam asked after a long silence.

"Eventually. Do you really want to know what I think, Sam?"

Sam's silence was a good enough answer.

"I think we're not going to find him until he actually wants to be found. But he's not dead. That much I know." Dean lapsed into silence.

"Yeah," Sam murmured, and then he, too, lapsed into silence. He had no idea how much time passed, because he didn't have a watch. He nudged Dean after a long break in conversation, though, waiting for his brother to look at him. He tapped his wrist, and Dean got the message, glancing down at his watch.

Dean signed that it was four forty. Only five more minutes. Both men felt the adrenaline spike, readying them for the battle ahead. They packed up their equipment and got to their feet, creeping their way to the lake shore, peering across the distance to the cabin, ablaze with light.

He reached a tentative foot forward, only to fine the ice was thin. "Shit," he cursed under his breath, looking to Sam, who sported a brooding expression.

"Well," Sam replied, so softly Dean almost didn't hear it, "this sucks."

XXX

From the tree above, she leaned her chin on her palm, watching the two men below. She'd heard their entire conversation – they'd spoken extremely softly, but her keen hearing had picked it up no problem. She drummed her fingers against her rifle barrel, trying to decide what she wanted to do with the Winchester brothers.

Neither of them noticed the woman perched in the tree above them, nor did they turn when she transported herself to the base of the tree, rifle in hand, leaving the rest of her equipment up where no one would find it.

She watched them closely to see if they sensed them behind her, but neither did. Smiling to herself, she crept up silently behind them, thankful they were standing close together. She reached up to grip the backs of their jackets just as Dean's body went stiff and she spun around to face her, knife in hand.

Ducking, she grabbed his jacket and Sam's sleeve, and focusing all of her energy, imagined herself on the shore of the island. There was a pull at her naval, and a brief moment of extreme cold and silence, until light and sound returned. She smiled in triumph, letting the stunned Winchesters go and stepping back.

"What…who…what the fuck?" Dean demanded, shocked, glancing from the island and the shore and back again to the woman, eyes wide. They narrowed as he pointed his knife at her. "How did you _do _that?"

The woman was tall, blonde, with light blue eyes and a devilish smirk. Her hair was shoulder-length and braided to keep it out of her face. She wore only a tanktop and cargo pants, a dusting of freckles going all the way to her wrists; her hands were encased in black gloves and at her hip was a sidearm – a Glock .22, if he was seeing well in the dark – and the hilt of a eight-inch knife. Her face was familiar, he just couldn't place it.

"Who are you?" Sam hissed, blocking her escape route, eyes wide and blazing with questions.

"Sorry, boys, don't have time," she replied, saluting them with two fingers. "Gotta go save those kids. Your time's up. FBI's attacking. Later."

"Wait!" Dean yelped, grabbing her sleeve. "What's your name?"

"Constance," the woman replied, grinning. "But you can call me Con."

And then Dean was holding thin air, blinking in surprise. Constance was gone, disappeared, vanished…which was not supposed to be possible. He shook himself, centering his being on the hunt. "That was goddamn weird," he grumbled, turning to Sam.

Sam was just as stunned as Dean. "What in the ever-loving goddamn hell was _that_?"

"Dunno, Sam, but we'll figure it out after. Come on," Dean whispered, leading the way up the wooded slope to the cabin. He heard gunshots and quickened his pace, slinging his rifle over his back in preference for his sidearm, which he held in his hands, the pearly surface both comforting and familiar.

His brother was right behind, shotgun held up and ready, trusting Dean to beat an even path through the foliage. Before either knew it, they were at the back door to the mansion, hearts pounding in anticipation. There was definitely gunfire inside.

"On three," Dean mouthed, and Sam nodded, grabbing the door knob. He held up his hand and counted down, and on zero, Sam turned the knob and pressed the door inward, ducking out of the way so that Dean could go in with Sam right behind him.

Dean was surprised to see two figures sprawled on the ground, dead and smoking from a stab wound in each of their chests. He shook his head and moved forward, stepping over the bodies, avoiding the pools of blood and moving cautiously from room to room. Each time, he found nothing or a dead body, nothing more.

He motioned for Sam to follow him up the stairs, stepping up the marble as quietly as physically possible. There was fighting upstairs. He moved past the room and down the small hallway, searching every room for the two kids. Sam suddenly pushed past him and made a beeline for the end of the hall, the last door on the right.

"Closet," Sam mouthed. He pulled out his lock pick and bent down to work the door, and Dean covered him, his heart pounding. He heard a feminine shout of pain, and wondered what it meant. He wondered if the girl – Constance – had morphed up here, to fight these demons.

With a soft click, the door came unlocked, and Sam opened the door. There, in the corner, were the two little boys, faces tear-streaked and dirty, staring up at them with terror in their eyes. Sam froze, his heart breaking over their expressions, wondering if this was what Dean had looked like upon the night of their mother's death – small, scared, and alone.

Dean pushed past him, stuffing his sidearm in the back of his pants. "Hey, boys," he said softly. "Come on. We're gonna get you out of here, away from the bad man." He held his hands out, his expression soothing, a warm smile on his face. He waited patiently, despite knowing that they were running out of time, but finally, the older boy inched forward, having decided Dean was trustworthy enough with his Daddy-vibe.

He caught the little boy when he launched into his arms, tucking him securely against his chest, his arms wrapping around him to hold him safe and warm. "It's okay, little buddy," he murmured. "You're safe now, Matthew. You're safe." The boy wouldn't relinquish his hold, so Dean reached out with his other hand to the baby, lifting him effortlessly and tucking him, too, against his chest before standing. "Sam, take Nicholas, would you?"

Sam shook his head, noticing how both boys clung to his brother. He didn't want to cause them more distress. "Can you hold them both?" he whispered.

"Of course," Dean said instantly, brows furrowed in confusion at his brother's refusal to take the kid.

"I'll cover you," he said, waving him forward. "Duck when I say duck, okay?"

"Okay, Sammy, fine." Dean looked to the kids in his arms. "Okay, boys, we're going to play the quiet game. The goal is to be as quiet as you _possibly _can until we get across the lake, okay?" They nodded silently, eyes wide, and with that he moved down the hallway, back the way they had come. The door they'd passed earlier flew open and Constance went tumbling into the hallway behind them, hissing, a knife held in her left hand drippping blood onto the marble floor.

She turned to them, eyes blazing with a rabid light. "GO!" she ordered. "Run! Get them the hell out of here!" And with that, she dove back into the room, and the sounds of combat resumed.

Dean and Sam wasted no time. They beat it double-time down the stairs and into the dense foliage, being as quiet as they could, headed for the docks. More gunfire erupted, before everything once again fell silent.

"DEAN!"

The volume of the voice was deafening and echoed through the silent forest. Dean exchanged glanced with Sam, and would know that voice from anywhere. Sam nodded approval, and he sucked in a deep lungful of air. "HERE, NOAH!" he called back.

A few branches snapped, and then silence. For a long moment nothing happened, until suddenly, a looming black mass materialized in front of them.

"There ya are," Noah said triumphantly, turning on his flashlight. "And you got the kids. Good." He clapped Dean on the back. "There were only six demons, Dean. And all of 'em were dead before we even got in there. Care to explain who that lovely woman was who vanished the moment we walked in? She looked kind of familiar...but I can't place her face to her name."

"I'd tell you if we knew, Noah," Dean said honestly. "All I know is that her name is apparently Constance. But for now, let's just get these kids the hell out of here."

"Agreed," Noah sighed. He lifted Matthew out of Dean's arms, transferring him to his own. "Hey, buddy," he whispered. "I'm an FBI Agent. Do you know what that is?" Matthew nodded slowly, his eyes wide. "You're safe now, okay? Let's get you someplace warm and dry, okay? Can I do that?"

"Uhuh," Matthew replied, his voice tiny and scared. Tears started leaking down his face. "I want my mommy and daddy."

Noah smiled sadly. "I'm going to tell you a story, Matt, about this place called heaven, where all good people go…" His voice trailed off as he strode off down the path, the boy secure in his arms.

Sam followed with Dean right behind him, cradling a now-asleep Nicholas, his hair mussed and drooping onto his forehead, his long eyelashes dark against his pale cheek.

"Come on, Dean," Sam urged gently, waving him along. "Let's get these kids safe and then go home."

XXX

From her perch high above, Constance watched, smiling as the two little boys were carried to safety in the boats moving across the lake. She didn't know what role the kids would play in the future, she only knew that the months to come would bring many challenges.

And the Winchester brothers…she had sensed a bond deeper than blood between them. The way they worked together as if two halves of the same whole was surprising and welcome, because she knew they would keep each other safe until the end plan was complete.

Sighing, she packed up her weapons into her duffel bag and slung it over her shoulder. And then she pictured her second-favorite place in the world, closed her eyes, and felt the familiar tug beneath her naval, descending into brief darkness before emerging once again into the warmth of a familiar shelter.

* * *

**Seeley Lake, Montana  
**Morning of January 27, 2006

Noah was seated on the hood of his black Yukon XL, elbows resting on his knees, chin braced on his fists. His face was hard and expressionless, his thoughts obviously far away, as he didn't even react to Dean's presence when he walked up in front of him.

With a soft sigh, Dean climbed up beside the massive hunter, balancing the two coffee cups in his hands and staring up at the stars with him. His breath was a fog in the cold early morning air. He nudged Noah and handed him one of the coffee cups, using the other to warm his own hands.

"Are the kids going to be okay?" he asked quietly, glancing over his shoulder to the back seat, where Matthew and Nicholas were curled up asleep in the back seat sleeping peacefully.

"Yeah," Noah replied, seeming to come back into himself with a snap. "I'm just trying to figure out what we're going to do with them."

"They've got no family," Michael said with a weary sigh as he walked up and sat beside Noah. With the three men on the hood, there was no space left. "I don't know what to do with 'em. I've got a friend who's a social worker…could drop 'em with her for a while, I suppose. She's a hunter…she might be able to find someone to take 'em."

"To Clarisse, you mean?" Noah said, glancing over at him.

"Yeah…her dad is a hunter. I just got off the phone with her. She's going to try to find a hunting family."

"I hope they'll be okay," Dean muttered, taking a sip of his coffee.

"We saved them. That's what matters."

"Yeah," Noah sighed, rubbing his face and drinking half his cup of coffee.

Michael laid back on the hood, staring up at the sky. "Guess we get to go home now," he mused.

"Yeah," he agreed, lying back beside him, followed closely by Dean. "'Least the stars are pretty."

Dean and Michael shared a glance and a grin at the goofy comment.

"I think you need to get some sleep, Clayborne," Michael said with a soft chuckle. "Hell, I think we all need to get some sleep."

"No kidding," Dean grumbled. "Well, Sam and I should probably jet before the local reporters get here. See you boys at home?"

The two FBI Agents waved but didn't sit up, and Dean hopped off the car and ambled back over to the Impala, where Sam was passed out and snoring in the passenger seat. His brother didn't even stir when he turned on the motor and pulled back into the snowy Montana winter.

All the same, it made his heart tug to leave those two little boys behind.

* * *

**Thunder Creek, Wyoming  
**January 28, 2006

Paige whistled as she sorted and folded the laundry fresh out of the dryer. From the living room she could hear Ally, Rachel, and the kids laughing at some silly joke, and the deep rumble of Jared's laughter along with them. The sounds of family and love made her smile, even as she carried the folded laundry upstairs and set the piles in each designated room, pausing briefly in Levi's new nursery that Jared and the boys had been working on. It was jungle themed, painted soft green with everything a little boy could ever want contained within.

The sight of it would make Sam smile.

"Paige?"

"Up here, Rachel," she called back, putting Sammy's clean clothes back in the dresser, smiling at the many pictures she had set up on top of the hand-crafted wooden structure. Each held a different stage of his young life, from birth to now, some with her, some with Dean, some with her family, and some with just him, smiling at the camera or chasing butterflies or her personal favorite, the photo she had snapped of Sergeant bending his head down to nuzzle his forehead while Sammy grinned ecstatically.

Rachel appeared, dressed warmly in jeans and a plain blue sweater, her engagement ring glinting on her finger.

"Hey," Paige greeted her, closing the dresser drawer. "What's up?"

"Nothing," Rachel replied with a soft smile. "I just…wanted to talk to you, I guess."

"About?" she pressed, smoothing Sam's crib cushion and neatly folding his blankets.

"Where are you going to put the baby's nursery?"

"I'll show you." Paige led her to the room right beside Sammy's, empty for now, but it had buckets of blue paint in the corner and the hand-crafted crib already up against the wall. She'd put all the gifts people had made for her – blankets, hats, booties, crib liners, and clothes – in a box beside the door. "We haven't had a chance to start yet, but I'm sure the boys will have fun. Dean did Sammy's entire nursery by himself, handcrafted everything, even the dresser."

"Really?" Rachel looked around the barren room. "That's not exactly something I can see Dean doing."

"You'd be surprised," she replied, grinning. "He acts all big and macho…but he's really just a big softie."

"Same with Jared."

"Same with Jared," Paige agreed, smiling. "What's bothering you, Rach?"

"Something…happened," Rachel said vaguely, suddenly staring out the window.

"Something big?"

Rachel nodded, her blonde ponytail bouncing. "Very big. I'm not sure how Jared will take it…or even how to tell him."

Paige had a pretty good inkling of what she was talking about. "This big thing…" she searched for the right words, frowning. "Does it involve ten little fingers and ten little toes?"

Miserably, Rachel nodded, staring at the floor. She looked up in surprise when Paige laughed and hugged her, not understanding. This was not exactly the reaction she'd been expecting.

"Oh, man, Rachel, why are you afraid?" Paige said, hugging her again. "Jared's going to go through the _roof_, he's going to be so happy! He adores kids…he'll probably faint! Okay, not faint, but still!"

Rachel suddenly grinned. "Really? He won't be mad?"

"No, silly! It's unplanned, but I'd bet welcome! When are you going to tell him?"

"I…I don't know, I hadn't really thought about it." Rachel seemed relieved, like the weight of the world had been lifted off her shoulders. "Thanks for…you know."

Paige smiled. "Look…to make you feel better, Sammy is a honeymoon baby. Nothing to be ashamed of, seriously. Don't worry. It'll all work itself out."

"So, have you picked a name yet?"

"Nah," she sighed, putting one hand absently on her stomach. "I've thought of a few, though. I'd like to name him after my side of the family this time. His middle name will probably be something along John or Christopher or Bradley…but the first name is going to be hard. I want to give him a name that means something, you know?"

"Yeah," Rachel agreed. "Are you scared?"

"A little," Paige admitted. "It's scary, not knowing if he's going to be healthy or not. Considering what I went through just a few months ago, anything could happen. I'm just hoping and praying that he's going to be okay."

"As of right now, everything is okay. Don't worry until there's something to worry about," Rachel sighed, squeezing her hand. "I'm a nurse, trust me, I know." She peered at her friend for a long moment. "So, how many hours a night are you sleeping?"

Paige sighed, glaring at her.

"You look tired," she defended with a shrug. "I'm trained to notice these things, you know. So what is it? Nightmares, pain, insomnia?"

"Nightmares, and I don't really want to talk about it, if that's okay," Paige admitted with a grimace.

"Okay," Rachel said, holding her hands up. "Come on, let's go downstairs."

With a smile and a sigh, Paige followed her.

"What's for dinner?"

Paige shrugged, following her down the stairs. "I don't really know yet…probably steak, potatoes, and green beans, depending on if Dean gets home in time. He's got mad skills with a barbeque."

Rachel laughed, heading back to the family room, while Paige headed for the kitchen.

XXX

Dean had never been so happy to see his own home in his entire life…which was saying something. He longed to just curl up in bed and sleep for thirteen hours straight, and then stay up all day playing with his son and loving his wife. Thoughts like that gave him peace, even as he pulled into the garage.

Sam was awake, yawning every two seconds, he himself excited to see his fiancé and his son. He took his jacket off and hung it on the peg just inside the door from the kitchen to the garage, mimicking his older brother.

"Damn, it's good to be home," Dean sighed, rubbing his hands together, glad to be back in warmth instead of freezing in the snow. He sniffed the air and peeked in the oven. "Mmm, onion potatoes…my favorite. And a cherry pie! Sweet!" He rolled his shoulders as the strain of the last hunt melted away to leave him feeling content and relaxed.

He turned to find his little brother standing shell-shocked, staring at the table.

"What?" Dean moaned, almost afraid to turn around. He did so, only to find a familiar face grinning back at him, ice cream balanced on a spoon, frozen mid-air.

"Well, hello there," Connie said, her smile coy now. She was on one of the barstools, spinning in circles and idly eating her bowl of ice cream.

"What the hell are you doing in my house?" Dean bellowed, the spell broken. "Get OUT!"

Paige appeared in the kitchen doorway, her expression shocked and joyful at the same time. "Dean!" she cried, upon seeing him. Her joy melted away, however, when she noticed the situation in the kitchen, Connie sitting calmly with shotgun pointed at her husband's midsection, and her husband wielding a butcher knife in his left hand. "What's going on?"

"HER!" Sam spat, pointing, gesturing wildly with his hands, and snatching a knife off of the counter. "Friggin teleported us or something! Killed demons with a goddamn knife! That's what's going on!"

"Okay, alright," Paige said calmly, holding her hands up. "How 'bout we all just take a deep breath here, okay? Let's talk about this. Con, put the damn shotgun down. Dean, Sam, lower your knives. Please."

Slowly, they did as she had asked, continuing to glare at each other.

"What _is _she?" Dean demanded angrily, hands clenched into fists.

"My old hunting partner," Paige replied. "She was a bridesmaid at my wedding, Dean, do you remember?"

It clicked in Dean's brain. That's why she'd looked so familiar. "Guess I should say nice to see you again," he snarled. "'Cept it's not, but what the hell."

Connie smiled tightly. "Likewise, Prettyboy," she ground out in reply.

"What are you?" Dean repeated, eyes blazing.

"You know, Newbern, your hubby is slightly scary with the whole smoldering eyes and curling lip thing," Connie said nonchalantly, returning to her bowl of ice cream. Dean growled–actually growled–and advanced a step forward, his protective nature in full swing, seeing as Connie was between him and his wife.

"What am I?" Connie parroted, smiling innocently. "Well, technically… I'm a demon."

Paige groaned and palmed her face. "This is going to be _so _much fun…"

* * *

E/N: Hope you liked…again, sorry for the long wait...reviews=love.

**REVIEW!  
**(Inspiration is key, peeps :P)


	24. Chapter 24

Author's Note: Hey, y'all. So…sorry for that bombshell, but bear with me here. Connie is SO not another Ruby, quite the opposite, in fact. I thank you for sticking with me this long, and hope you'll continue to do just that. To my reviewers…I love you all! ;D

Disclaimer: Only own my OC's.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Four  
**Blood Oath

Dean was certain he hadn't heard her right, his fury mounting to breaking point. "I'm sorry, come again?" he snarled, fists clenched.

"Demon," Connie repeated slowly, as if he were a dumb mute who didn't understand English. "Though I'm not the typical demon, you know."

"Christo!" Sam bellowed.

Connie blinked and stared at him, one eyebrow raised. Her eyes never changed color, remained light blue. The brothers were momentarily confused….no demon could remain normal after Christ was said in Latin.

"Like I said," she smirked. "Not the usual demon. I wasn't turned into a demon."

Dean and Sam were done with talking. With an enraged bellow, the both of them lunged across the kitchen in full fighting mode.

"Stop it!" Paige screamed, trying to break them up, dodging knife thrusts and shotgun blasts. "DAMN IT! You're putting holes in my wall!"

The three were spinning around each other in a mix of punches, blocks, kicks, and knife jabs and slashes. They ducked and twirled around each other in some sick interpretation of a dance, clothes tearing and ripping as the knives grazed their jackets and shirts, slicing their skin.

Paige felt helpless, knowing that the three of them were a blind rage. She turned towards the living room, far enough for Jared and Rachel to be oblivious. "JARED!" she screamed in a voice full of both anger and terror, seeking someone else's help. There was a loud crash from the living room, and Jared shot through the doorway, sidearm in hand.

"What?" he demanded, skidding to a halt at her side, hands framing her face. "What's wrong?"

She wordlessly pointed to the kitchen right as Constance flew past the doorway, Sam's hair held in her right fist, the latter roaring in pain and anger.

"Jesus," Jared muttered, clicking on his safety and shoving his weapon in the back of his pants, shrugging out of his jacket. "Constance, I take it?"

Paige nodded, angry tears forming in her eyes.

"I take it Dean didn't react to the news very well?"

She shook her head. "Goddamn idiot attacked her, Jare. Do something. Please. I would, but I'm slightly incapacitated at the moment." She gestured at her slightly swollen stomach. "If I wasn't, I'd jump in there and kill him myself." She was suddenly aware of Rachel's presence at her elbow.

"Um…is this just a part of the Knox/Newbern insanity?" Rachel asked hesitantly, as Dean went flying past the doorway from the direction Sam and Connie had disappeared to, arms and legs going the opposite direction of his body, obviously having been kicked in the abdomen with both feet and launched backwards (one of Constance's favorite fighting moves, as she was stronger than humans and could kick a lot harder).

With a sigh, Jared launched into the fray, doing his best to help out his friend, slightly slower than usual seeing as his muscles hadn't completely recovered from his ordeal yet.

"Rach, are you sure he's not going to hurt himself?" Paige asked worriedly, watching him trading blows with Dean, shouting at him in an attempt to quell his blind rage.

"He's fine," Rachel promised. "His bones are all healed, and his stitches were removed last week. He's okay. Besides, he's tough. Might take a few blows, but he lands them just as well."

Paige already knew that, so she didn't say anything, just watched the fight continue, until, finally, Jared caught Sam in a powerful chokehold, drawing him backwards out of the fight, cutting off circulation to his head. Sam's face was bright red and he was already gasping, so Jared released him and dragged him all the way to the opposite wall.

Dean and Connie had reached a standoff, he with his handgun pressed between her eyes, and she with her shotgun snug against his stomach, the two of them glaring at each other.

"Dean, please," Paige pleaded. "Let us explain. It's not what you think. Really." She pressed against his chest, looking up into his face, the lines chiseled in anger. "Please," she whispered, hands fisting in his shirt.

His furious eyes glittered a violent green, but he remained silent, a clear order to start explaining or he'd continue attacking. Paige looked at Connie, signaling for her to get on with it, already.

"What in the hell are you talking about?" Sam growled.

"My mom was possessed by a demon before my parents got married. By the time I existed, the demon was in my biological father and left soon after I was born." She paused, frowning. "I was _supposed_ to be a boy, you know. So, not a conventional demon." She snapped her fingers and her ice cream bowl refilled.

All eyes fell on Dean and Sam, who at the current looked furious.

"Leave," Dean said, softly, his eyes squeezed tightly shut and fists clenched at his sides. It was taking all of his effort to refrain from attacking her. His hands shook, the tremors passing all the way up his arms, knuckles clenched so tight they were throbbing painfully from the strain. When Connie didn't move, he took a threatening step forward, for the moment completely ignoring his wife. "Leave, or I swear to God, my control will snap and I'll kill you."

Connie cleared her throat. "See you around, Newbern," she said quietly, retrieving her shotgun. With a soft whooshing noise, she disappeared.

The kitchen was silent but for Dean's unsteady breathing and Sam's rough coughing.

Rachel and Jared quietly excused themselves, leaving Sam on the floor and skirting around the couple locked in an angry interpretation of a staring contest.

Paige's hands were still on his chest. She stared up at him with mixed emotions in her eyes. Joy from his return, anger over the fight, and worry over his opinion. Her heart sank when he finally opened his eyes to look at her.

They were filled with anger and betrayal.

"How could you keep this from me?"

She flinched at the barely-withheld fury in his voice. His hands came up to grip her upper arms, fingers constricting almost to the point of pain.

"I was protecting her," she defended herself. "She's like my sister. She asked me not to tell, so I didn't."

"And that justifies it?" he exploded.

"I did nothing less than you would do for Sam!" she shouted in return, hoping that maybe the statement would bring out his rational side.

"DON'T GIVE ME THAT CRAP!"

Aaaand, maybe not.

"I TOOK AN OATH, DEAN!"

"YOU _LIED_ TO ME! YOU KNEW ABOUT SAM ALL ALONG! HOW COULD YOU LIE, PAIGE? HOW?"

They were nose to nose, voices at max volume, echoing through the entire house, her clutching at his shirt, he gripping her arms. They glared at each other. His chest heaved, his breathing rough and ragged. He knew that he was barely in control. He needed to take a step back and calm himself down before he did something stupid that he would regret. Abruptly releasing her, he pulled her hands off his shirt and stalked past her out of the kitchen, punching the wall before disappearing down the hall.

Paige felt a sharp pain in her chest; not recognizing it as heartbreak at first. She sank into a chair, face in her hands, realizing that her and Dean had never really fought before. Cursing her hormones, she felt tears start to leak through her fingers.

Sam had watched the whole thing from the floor and now hesitantly dragged his aching body to his feet (damn, could Jared punch hard), inching his way quietly over to sit beside her. His head was throbbing painfully, and he made a mental note to kick Jared's ass later.

"Did he hit you?" a quiet voice said from the doorway.

He was faintly surprised that he hadn't even heard the kitchen door open. Noah and Michael stood just inside the doorway, their faces grim and haggard with exhaustion.

"Don't be ridiculous, Michael," Paige scolded, voice muffled by her hands. Of all the things Dean was capable of in anger, beating was not one of them. Not now, not ever. He would never do that to her. He'd rather kill himself. "He wouldn't ever hit me. Not even in a sparring match."

The duffel bag over Michael's shoulder thumped heavily to the floor. "What happened?" he demanded.

"We don't need to castrate him, do we?" Noah added in an attempt to lighten the mood.

"It's between me and Dean, you guys."

"What were you fighting over?" Michael pressed.

"Ello," Connie's voice broke in. she was spinning around the barstool again, ice cream bowl in hand. She saluted the with her spoon.

Everything clicked into place. "Ah," Michael said. "I see. He didn't take it well, huh, Con?"

"No better than you, Brent," Connie shot him a sideways glare. "I have a distinct memory of a knife sticking out of my thigh, thanks so much."

Michael shrugged and grinned sheepishly. "It's instinct. Attack first, ask questions later," he said dismissively. "Don't worry, Paige. He just needs to calm down. he'll come around. We all did. Just give him a while to process."

The people in the kitchen lapsed into silence, so when a soft shuffle sounded from the living room, everyone knew what to expect. None were surprised when Sammy and Levi appeared in the doorway.

Levi made a beeline for Sam, and without really thinking about it he lifted the boy to his lap. He smiled when his son snuggled into his chest, yawning hugely.

"Hi, dada," Levi mumbled.

"Mommy?" Sammy said hesitantly, climbing into her lap, sippy cup clenched in his hand. He pulled her hands away from her face. "Why cry, mommy?"

"Mommy's just really tired, baby," she explained, wiping her cheeks. She ruffled his hair.

"Baby?" her son parroted, tilting his head to one side.

She nodded. "Your little brother makes me tired sometimes, sweetheart."

"Oh. Otay."

"Why don't you go find auntie Ally and have her put in Lion King for you?" she suggested, kissing the top of his head.

"Otay," Sammy sighed, jumping off her lap without relinquishing his hold on the sippy cup. "Tum on, Lebi."

"Uh-uh," Levi replied, shaking his head and wiggling in an attempt to get even closer to his father.

"Go on, son. Go play," Sam urged quietly, dislodging him and lowering him to the floor. The boy reluctantly followed his cousin into the living room, shouting for Ally.

The only sound now was the soft squeak of the rotating barstool and the scrape of Connie's spoon against her glass bowl.

"Paige?" Connie said quietly, eyes on the ceiling.

"Yeah, Connie?"

"I'm sorry."

Silence descended again, and remained until Paige rose to put Sammy to bed. Paige kissed her son goodnight and sang softly to him until he fell asleep using his teddy bear as a pillow. It was late, the house was dark, and she could hear Sam and Ally singing to Levi in his nursery down the hall and Michael and Noah winding down from the hunt, their voices rough from exhaustion. From downstairs came the distant thudding of fists upon leather. Dean was in the gym, then, beating the crap out of the punching bag.

Their room was quieter than usual. She went through her usual nightly routine, grateful to curl up under the covers, arms protectively cradling her unborn son.

"It's okay, baby boy," she whispered as his strong kicks landed on her ribs. She could feel the imprints of his tiny feet on her palm. "Daddy's just mad. He'll come back. Don't worry."

Her body was exhausted, but her mind was awake. She knew what happened, what she saw every time she closed her eyes. She feared the nightmares. During the day she poretented that everything was fine, but as soon as night fell, she resigned herself to the fact that she would, for the millionth time, relive her experience in the damn tank.

* * *

Dean's fists ached and his entire body screamed from exhaustion, but he'd mostly worked off his murderous mood. The fabric of his Karate uniform was thick and heavy, the blackbelt at his waist painfully tight. He'd been alternating between doing patterns and attacking the punching bag with all-consuming theory. Shrugging out of his uniform, he took a shower, the hot water partially relaxing his tense muscles. He dressed simply in his favorite pair of pajama pants, a gift from Paige for their honeymoon.

Not that he used them much at the time, but now they were worn from years of use. He didn't care overly much, as they were comfortable as hell.

He longed to go to her, but knew that he was still mad and needed to calm down. The room was quiet, quiet enough that for a second, he questioned whether Paige was even there and resigned himself to sleeping on the couch. He heard her breathing, though; knew she was there. He sat in the armchair beside the fireplace in their bedroom and waited patiently for the darkness to lessen as his eyes adjusted.

She was sleeping peacefully, breathing slow and easy, her back turned. He breathed steadily, the deep steady sound relieving him of much of the tension in his shoulders.

At his side of the bed, he stood watching her sleep, warring with himself. He sighed heavily, upset at himself for his explosion. Unable to hold back any longer, he lowered himself to the soft surface of his mattress, facing her. His hand reached out of its own accord, settling against the skin of her cheek.

Dean heard her breathing pattern change and knew she was awake. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Me, too," she whispered back, finally opening her eyes.

"I don't like fighting," he realized. "Not with you. I just…I felt betrayed for a moment there." He went to scoot closer but hesitated halfway through the motion for the first time since they'd gotten married.

Paige closed the distance herself, turning slightly so she fit against his body without her protruding stomach in the way. She breathed a silent sigh of relief, glad to be in his arms again. "I don't like it, either," she admitted.

"Are we okay?"

She'd never heard his voice so hesitant and fearful. She nodded to appease his worry and kissed his neck. There was a comfortable silence while he searched for how to say what he wanted to without completely mucking it up. She gasped suddenly in complete shock.

Dean's entire body went completely stiff. "What?" he demanded, pulling away to look down at her, panicked.

Rolling her eyes, she pulled him back down and threw off the comforter, reaching down for his hand. She held it in hers before pressing it firmly against the top of her baby bump. "Wait for it," she whispered, the skin of her palm warm on the back of his hand. He leaned closer in anticipation, knowing what was supposed to happen.

With a force that made him jump, the tiny imprint of a foot slammed against his palm hard enough to push his hand off.

"Did you feel that?"

"How could I _not_?" he said with a laugh, wonder and awe soothing through his being, the grin on his face broad. "He's strong."

"Hmm, like his daddy," she murmured, yawning tiredly.

Dean leaned over her, tugging her shirt up so he could nuzzle that precious life. "Hey there, baby boy," he whispered. The baby kicked again, so hard that he could actually _see _the outline of the tiny foot against his wife's skin. "Careful, there, big guy. Why are you kicking your mommy so hard?"

"He doesn't like it when I lie on my back," Paige explained. "As soon as I roll over, he'll stop."

He started talking. She watched him through her eyelashes, smiling at the scene of him carrying on a conversation with their unborn son. The baby's kicks slowed before they finally stopped, which amazed her. Dean had actually soothed him to the point where he fell asleep.

"Better?" Dean teased, kissing her.

"Hmm," she replied, kissing him back. "He must have missed you doing that every night."

* * *

When Paige awoke the next morning, it was early and Dean was still asleep with his palm nestled against her round belly. She carefully eased out of his embrace and took a shower before heading downstairs to start breakfast. It startled her slightly to find Ally nursing a cup of coffee at the kitchen table.

"You're up early," Paige commented, making herself a cup of decaf.

"Hmph," Ally grunted as a reply. Her eyes twinkled with sudden mirth. "So, how was the make-up sex?"

Paige snorted and almost spit her coffee all over the floor. "Allyson Baraldi, you have absolutely _no _tact," she informed her best friend. "And is that decaf? It better be. Coffee isn't good for the baby."

Ally scowled at her. "Of _course _it's decaf," she grumbled.

"Have you had an ultrasound yet?"

"One," she admitted, rubbing her eyes. "It's not actually baby. It's _babies_."

"You're having twins?" Paige gasped, shocked, a huge grin spreading across her face. "Oh, Ally, congrats!"

"Thanks," Ally replied with a laugh, hugging her back. "I'm a little scared, but I'm sure it will all go fine."

"You're a great mom. Don't worry about it." Paige grinned again, shaking her head. "Twins. Wow. How far along are you, exactly?"

"Four months," Ally replied. "They're due end of September."

"So…do you know the genders?"

Ally nodded. "Sam hasn't decided yet, but I wanted to know, so I asked as soon as he left the room. We're having one of each." She grinned ecstatically. "I finally get to have my baby girl."

"Oh, a niece! I'm soooooooo excited for you and Sam, Ally!"

"Me, too," she replied with a laugh. "I already know what I want to name them, too. We'll just have to see if Sam agrees."

"What are you thinking?" Paige asked, tracing her finger around the lip of her coffee cup.

"Brayden and Sarah," Ally replied. "Or Trystan and Sarah. I just really like Sarah Mary Winchester." She shrugged. "I like Trystan, too, though. Guess it depends on what Sam wants to name them. How about you?"

"I'm thinking Aaron or Jace, with Bradley as the middle name," Paige admitted. "I would name him Christopher, but we've already got plenty of those. I like Brac, too. It means 'free' in Welsh."

"I like them," Ally inputted. "Though Brac wouldn't go very well with Bradley."

"True," Paige admitted. "Care to help me with breakfast?"

"Sure, sure," Ally said with a sigh, getting to her feet. "What're we making today?"

"The usual. Pancakes, eggs, bacon, sausage, hashbrowns, and maybe some toast."

"Sounds good to me."

The two women worked quietly for the next fifteen minutes, chatting with each other over the pans they expertly mastered.

There was a knock at the front door. Paige sighed. "Watch these?" she said, pointing down at the eggs.

"Sure," Ally replied, moving her pancake griddle closer to the pan so she could use both hands.

Paige was grateful she'd gotten changed and honestly wondered who would be knocking at seven ten in the morning. She opened the door to find Noah and Michael standing there, looking even more tired than they had last night. Confused, she looked between them. Had they left in the middle of the night? She hadn't even heard them.

"Hi," she said slowly, brow furrowed as she looked between the two FBI Agents, eyes falling on the two little boys held in their arms. "What's going on?"

"Uh, well…" Noah hedged, rubbing the back of his head with his free hand, his face expression one of a dog backed into a corner.

"These are Matthew and Nicholas Sailor," Michael explained, shifting the sleeping Nicholas slightly in his arms. "We need a hunting family to foster them. So…you up for it?"

Paige's jaw dropped in shock, looking between them, half-hoping this was a joke. The two men just looked back at her with no humor in their gazes, awaiting her answer. As if she could turn away the kids. Dean had told her all about them last night, all that they had been through. But this was a huge bombshell to drop, despite the fact that she was more than willing to take them, especially at seven in the freaking morning.

"Um…what?"

* * *

E/N: Well? Like, dislike?

**REVIEWS=LOVE :D**


	25. Chapter 25

A/N: Okay, so I've had tons of computer issues, but they're over now and I am, in fact, ALIVE! Woot! Without further ado, chapter twenty-five! Specific episodes mentioned are "Faith" and "Route 666". Next chapter is the last half of this…it got way too long. I should have the next one posted within the next few days. Bear with me… :D

Disclaimer: Only my OC's peeps…rest is Kripke's.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Five  
**Strays, Demons, and Lack of Sleep

"Please say you'll take them," Michael pleaded with her, his expression a grimace. "We've been up all night with our social worker friend Charlotte Danes trying to find a suitable foster home and no other hunting families can take them."

Paige was slightly flustered and pressed her hand to her head, attempting to soothe her whirling thoughts. Where would they sleep? What would they _wear_? How would she be able to take care of her own son and deal with her soon-to-be-born infant while helping to work through the trauma these two little boys had experienced? It was enough to drive anyone sane completely bonkers.

"Uh, I have to talk to Dean," she said unsteadily, looking back up at them. "But I say yes. I'm sure he will, too. But this is a big commitment and I need to talk to him about it first, before we make any big decisions."

"Okay," Michael said, relieved, his expression soothing into one of relief. He knew Dean well enough to know that he would never turn away two innocent little kids who had lived through the same experience he had. He shifted Nicholas in his arms, almost reluctant to hand over the innocent little baby to his cousin. But he settled the young child in her arms anyway.

She was startled at first, but quickly relaxed, looking down silently at the almost-one-year-old's sleeping face. "Oh, God," she breathed, feeling a familiar tug at her heart. It was the same little tug she got every time she looked at Sammy. She was falling for the boy already, and it hadn't even been five minutes yet. She just couldn't look away. His hair was curly and blonde, more light brown that blonde in the sparse light. His eyelashes were dark and long and swept onto his rounded cheeks. She groaned inwardly. There was no way she was going to be able to give him up now, and when she glared up at Michael, he grinned as if reading her exact thoughts.

"That's Nicholas," he explained, pulling a folder out of his jacket. "This is all of his information." He flipped it open and skimmed the first page, frowning as he read, his eyes slightly blurry from exhaustion. "Birth name Nicholas Allan Sailor, birth date twentieth of February 2001, birthplace Missoula, Montana…" he trailed off, rubbing his eyes. "He's allergic to peanuts and is terrified of cats." He smiled slightly at that. "Random thing to put in a file, but whatever. Anyway, everything you need to know is in their files."

"And the older boy?" she sighed, nodding at the sleeping form cradled in Noah's arms.

"This is Matthew Karl Sailor Junior," Noah announced, tipping his body towards her so that she could see his sleeping face – blonde hair and dark eyelashes, just like his little brother. "Drove the both of 'em all the way down from Montana. Charlotte called when she researched their backgrounds and found no living relatives." He stood up straight again, pulling the blanket closer around the boy to ward off the chill. "He's almost four. His birthday is the twenty-third of February, so the end of the month."

As he spoke, Matt shifted in his arms, letting out a sleepy cough before turning his face completely into Noah's T-shirted chest. The three adults smiled at the innocence of the scene.

"Michael, what's the condition?" Paige asked, locking gazes with him. "You know me almost better than I know myself. I won't be able to give them up after I take them in. It would destroy me."

"Well…I don't see any reason barring you from adopting."

"Uh… wife of a serial killer, remember?"

"_Former_ wife of a serial killer, who is now dead," Michael corrected. "Besides, this entire town already vouchered for you." He grinned sheepishly. "We asked around to get fifteen referrals. Remember, Charlotte is a hunter and knows your dad, and that Dean isn't really dead. But don't worry, she won't talk. All you have to do is jump through the necessary hoops, and they'll be yours to adopt." He held up a finger. "But you _do _have to consent to visits from a social worker. Probably Charlotte. So Dean can be present, she'll just neglect to mention so in her reports. If all goes well, you'll have no obstacles to adopt them. If that's what you decide you want to do, that is."

Paige nodded consent and held the sleeping boy closer. "The demon that was after them… did you kill it?"

"Unfortunately, no," Noah sighed. "Damn thing whooshed out before we could. Connie killed all the rest of them, though."

"So you'll probably need to change their names," Michael said, sensing the train of thought her mind was stuck on. "If I was you I'd do it as soon as possible, so they get used to the idea. I wouldn't even recommend keeping their first names in the name anywhere. Too easy to track. I've got all the pictures of them as little kids to put on the wall. Should make it easy enough, seeing as these kids were practically raised by nannies anyway. The parents aren't in any of them."

"Okay," she sighed. "You won me over. Come on in, we're making breakfast." Still holding Nicholas in her arms, she stepped back to allow them to pass, leaving Noah to close the door while she made the way to the kitchen. Zeus and Percy came through the open back door, tails wagging as they greeted the men, and curious as they sniffed the scents of the two new boys.

"They do come and go, don't they," Noah mused, reaching down to scratch the ears of the Great Dane and German shepherd.

"Yeah," she replied nonchalantly. "They usually sleep in the barn with the horses. Though we do drag them inside once a week to give them baths, otherwise, they smell like a pig sty."

Michael chuckled. "Uh…eew," he commented, nose crinkling with many a memory of the reeking stench of a pig sty.

Ally turned as the men entered the kitchen, eyebrows shooting up when she saw the boys. "Michael, Noah, welcome home," she greeted them. "Are those Nicholas and Matthew?" At Paige's raised eyebrow, she rolled her eyes. "Your husband isn't the only one who gets chatty after a difficult hunt, you know," she reminded her friend.

Paige smiled slightly and shrugged to show her agreement. "Mikey, take him, would you?" she asked, passing along the sleeping boy in her arms. She blew her hair out of her face and glanced warily over her shoulder at the stairs. "I have to go wake up Dean. We'll probably be a while. We have a lot to discuss."

"If I hear shouting, should I come up armed?" Noah joked. He was pleased when he got exactly the reaction he wanted – she smiled at him, her eyes taking on their usual twinkle. Content, he sat on a barstool and hoped that Matt wouldn't wake up anytime soon.

Paige gathered herself and shook her head. "Don't worry, Noah," she said calmly. "We got all the yelling out of our systems last night, I think. It will be fine. Quit being so protective."

"Yes, ma'am," he said mockingly.

Shaking her head, she headed up the stairs, closing her bedroom door behind her.

Dean was still asleep, sprawled on his stomach, his face buried in the pillow. A shaft of light from a crack in the curtains fell across the broad expanse of his back, lighting a piece of his neck and the corner of his jaw, and warming his hair. He wasn't even snoring, which was new. Not that he was much of a snorer, anyway.

She sat down on his side of the bed, biting her lip while she thought of how to wake him. His face was turned away from the window, towards her side of the bed. Knowing he wouldn't object to a gentle wake-up, she leaned down to rest her cheek on the back of his shoulder, her breath tickling his neck.

"Dean," she whispered. His breathing pattern changed, so she knew he was waking up, albeit reluctantly. She watched his brow furrow before his eyelashes fluttered and his left eye cracked open to peer sleepily at her.

"Hmph," he mumbled, turning his face into the pillow. "Whatimzit?"

"Seven twenty-five," she whispered, closing her eyes and trying to work out what exactly she was going to say to him.

"Howlongubenup?"

She cracked a smile at his case of the Morning Mumbles. "Since about six."

**A/N: That's seriously what my family calls it – Morning Mumbles. My dad, our family friend James, his son Cameron, and I have a mumble-language consisting of grunts and weird noises that we all understand. No joke. :D**

Dean knew he had to get up, but his body wasn't agreeing with him. He felt her sit up straight when he grumbled something incoherent to the pillow, sighed, and rolled over to squint up at her. Not to say he didn't appreciate her _not _dumping cold water on his head, but this wakeup routine was new. He moved so that his face wasn't caught in the shaft of light, rubbing his eyes as he tried to guess what had changed. He froze with his hand over his eyes. She wasn't still mad, was she? Had she been truthful last night?

_Well, of course she had...she wouldn't have said so otherwise… _his mind rationalized.

Would she?

"Hey," Paige said quietly, pulling his hand away from his eyes when she noticed his body go rigid. "What's wrong?" When she could finally see his eyes, it startled her to see the muffled panic swirling in the green depths. He swallowed heavily, the hand of the wrist she held clenching into a fist. She smiled and held his face in her hands. "I meant every word, Dean."

He relaxed and closed his eyes in relief. It took every ounce of his self control not to jump when her lips pressed against the wrinkled furrow of his brow. "Sorry," he whispered. "Just…just a scary thought." He pulled her down next to him, still not fully awake.

Paige relaxed and allowed him to pull her down, always thankful for the comfort his nearness brought.

"So what's bothering you?" Dean asked.

"We need to talk," she replied quietly. When he stiffened again, she nudged his ribs with her elbow. "Relax. I meant we need to talk about what's downstairs."

That piqued his curiosity. "Okay, I'll bite. What's downstairs?"

"Matthew and Nicholas Sailor." Paige watched his expression for any hint of change, noting the shift towards surprise and his quick glance down at her. His eyes were narrowed in both thought and confusion.

"Michael and Noah have no one else to foster them," she explained tiredly. "I can't turn them away, Dean. I just can't."

"I know you can't, love," he sighed, wrapping his arms around her and kissing the top of her head. "To be honest, I thought it would end like this. So, if you want to foster them, would you be willing to adopt them, too? I couldn't get attached, only to have to give them away. It would destroy me."

"Me, too, Dean." She shuddered at the thought of someone taking them away. "It would destroy me, too."

"Honey, are you sure? I mean, we already have Sammy, and I know you're a fantastic mother and all, but with the baby on the way…jumping from one kid to four in the same year isn't going to be easy." He pulled her closer almost unconsciously, wanting to protect her from any possible pain. "And I'm going to be on hunts until we find my dad, and Ally and Sam still have the wedding to plan, and she's pregnant too, and…"

"Shh," she ordered, kissing his jaw, thankful when his tirade of worry stilled. "Everything will work out fine, Dean. My uncle had five kids under the age of ten throughout my teenage years. I'm used to juggling lots of kids at once. And they're different ages, so they're needs will be different. It will be fine."

"And Sammy? How do you think he'll react to the transition of being an only child to suddenly being forced to accept one older and two younger siblings?"

"I…I don't know, Dean. He's mellow. I don't see really how it could be a problem, but…he's used to being the only child, being the only one we love." She looked at his shoulder as she spoke, lost in thought. "He will probably react with jealousy…most kids who suddenly get siblings do, at first. He'll see it as competition for our affection, and he'll know that they're not his real siblings. He's smart."

"Look, Paige…as much as I want to help those kids, I just…I don't think I can expose my son to that level of emotional turmoil. I couldn't bear to see him upset… I just don't want him to feel replaced. He shouldn't have to feel that way."

Paige sighed and finally looked at him, to find his expression mirroring every inner worry harbored in her heart. "Nothing could ever replace him, Dean," she said with certainty. "He's our firstborn, our baby boy. And while I would never favor one child over another, in my heart I know that there will always be a special place for him, because he was the first." She sighed and dropped her head to his shoulder. "I just don't want to be the failure of a mother that _my _mom was. She got it backwards…always favored Claire over me and Chris, because she was the 'baby' of the family. And this baby…"

"You're nothing like your mother, Paige," Dean said, squeezing her gently so she'd look up at him. "Do you hear me? Nothing. And you never will be…so stop worrying."

She smiled faintly. "How is it that you always know what I'm really afraid of?" she mused, reaching up to smooth his sleep-mussed hair.

Dean grinned cheekily, definitely more awake than he had been ten minutes ago. "Well… I was your best friend first, remember? I'd like to think that I still am, somewhat," he said. He kissed her passionately, pulling away when he felt her hand fist in his hair. "But then, I'm not _just _your best friend, am I?"

Paige glared at him for a moment before she started laughing. "You're a tease, is what you are," she informed him, leaning away from him. He held her fast, grinning down at her.

"Damn straight, woman."

"Oh, shut up."

"Yes, ma'am." He leaned down to kiss her again, undeterred when she turned her face away. Instead he pressed kisses from her jaw line all the way to her collarbone, pausing several times beneath her ear and smiling when her breath caught every time.

"Stop it," she ordered, pulling away. He sighed, looking slightly hurt, but she patted his cheek. "Not that I don't want to, Dean, but Ally can hardly manage eight pans at once without setting the house on fire."

Dean's eyes popped open. "Ally's in the kitchen?"

"Yes, I left her down there to come wake up you, sleepyhead."

"Babe, are you serious? Ally, in the kitchen. Cooking."

Paige nodded, eyebrows raised at his apparent shock.

"Uh…_alone_."

"No, not alone," she corrected. "Michael, Noah, and the boys are down there, too."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" he wondered.

She shrugged. "I don't know, is it?"

"Well, it isn't." He released her and got out of bed warily, rubbing his face with both hands. "You might want to go make sure she isn't setting our house on fire." He grinned with Paige laughed. "I'll go get Sammy up. Where's Levi?"

"Still asleep, probably," Paige said over her shoulder as she headed for the door. "Sleeps like his mom."

"You mean like the dead," he corrected, quickening his pace to catch her at the door. He captured her for another quick kiss. "Good morning, by the way."

"Good morning to you, too," she chuckled, untangling herself from his arms and heading down the stairs.

With a happy grin, Dean made a beeline for his son's nursery, smiling when he saw his son sprawled on his stomach staring at the door, obviously waiting for someone to come get him, as he'd probably just woken up. "Hey, baby boy," he greeted him in a normal tone, grinning wider when his son jumped to his feet, beamed with joy, and stuck his arms up, one hand fisted around the foot of his teddy bear.

Dean lifted Sammy easily into his arms, kissing his cheeks loudly, making him squeal with delight. He rubbed noses with him and smiled when those little hands touched his cheeks. "Morning, boo bear," he whispered.

"Hi daddy," Sammy giggled. "Wha mommy?"

"Downstairs making breakfast," he told him, swinging him in a circle and lifting him up to blow raspberries on his stomach. "But there's two people downstairs you haven't ever met before."

"Who are dey?"

"Me, Uncle Sam, Uncle Noah, and Uncle Michael found them. They're going to be your brothers." He settled his son on the changing table so that Sammy was facing him, his feet dangling over the edge. Sammy's head tilted to one side, his green eyes curious. "We saved them, and now we're going to take care of them for a while. Is that okay with you?"

"Get brovers?" Sammy inquired, tone curious.

"Yeah, buddy."

"Baby?"

Dean shook his head. "No, not that brother, buddy. Different brothers."

"Oh," Sammy said mournfully. "When baby?"

"Not for a while, bud. But he'll get here. You just got to be patient." He poked Sammy gently in the stomach, smiling when his son giggled and swatted his hand away. "Now, what do you say we go get mommy to wrestle us up some breakfast, huh?"

Sammy nodded excitedly and squealed with delight as Dean did Superman with him all the way down the stairs. By the time he finally got to the kitchen his face was bright red from laughing and he was fully awake. As soon as Dean settled him on his hip, Sammy saw Noah and Michael and started bouncing up and down excitedly.

Dean's eyes scanned the kitchen, to find both Matthew and Nicholas awake, Matthew sitting on Michael's lap and Nicholas on Paige's hip, staring up at her with confusion in his eyes, obviously having no idea who the heck she was, while Matt stared wide-eyed around the kitchen, confused by his surroundings.

"Heya, Sammy," Noah greeted the boy, lifting him from Dean's arms to swing him in a circle. "And how is my rambunctious little monkey this morning?"

"Hungry!"

"Uh-oh," Noah laughed. "You should get your mommy to change that, don't you think?"

"Who dat?" Sammy asked, pointing at Nicholas, briefly forgetting his hunger.

"That's your new brother, bud," he told him quietly, walking over to stand beside his partner's cousin. From his vantage point high up in Noah's arms, it was easy for Sammy to see the other boy. Sammy and Nicholas stared at each other with equal amounts of confusion. His brow wrinkled and he stuck his arms out for his mom, his lip wobbling.

"Mommy," he cried.

Paige handed Nicholas to Dean and took Sammy from Noah's arms. "Hey, boo bear," she greeted him, rubbing noses with him like she did every morning. "How did you sleep?"

Sammy shrugged. "Otay. Food?"

"Auntie Ally and I are working on it, buddy," Paige promised as Sam strode into the kitchen with Levi on his shoulders, giggling madly and holding fistfuls of Sam's dark hair.

"Ouch, Levi," Sam complained with a laugh, reaching up to untangle his son from his hair, lifting him down and holding him up to Ally, who took him and kissed the top of his head. "Good morning, lovely family."

"Good morning," the room chorused.

Sam took in the scene, blinking sleepily and rubbing his eyes, staring between Michael and Matthew, Noah and Nicholas, Paige and Sammy, and Ally and Levi. "Whoa," he said, completely confused. "Am I hung over or something? When did it go from two kids to four?" It took him a second to recognize the kids. "Oh." He looked at Dean. "So…fostering them, then?"

Dean nodded. "And it will most likely end up…uh, official," he said carefully, aware that Matt could very well understand him. "Hey, Matthew. Do you remember me?"

The boy nodded, his hazel eyes watering.

"My name is Dean," he said soothingly, crouching before the boy, reaching out to rest his palms against the bottom of Michael's shoes, for some unknown reason needing the contact. "We took you from the scary place."

Matthew didn't look scared. "Where am I?" he asked in a small voice, his lip wobbling. "Where's Nicky?"

"My friend Noah has Nicky," he explained, reaching out to lift the boy into his arms, relief flooding him when he didn't protest. He held him on his hip and turned towards Noah's mammoth form, making sure that he could see his brother in the tall man's arms. "He's safe. Do you remember Noah?"

"Yeah," Matthew said softly, lip still wobbling. "He picked me and Nicky up from the nice lady's house."

"He did," Dean confirmed, grabbing Matthew's blanket and wrapping it around his small form. "Let's go outside and talk for a little while, okay? There's a porch swing out there I think you'll like." He looked to his wife, still holding his son, and tilted his head towards the door. With an understanding smile, she traded Sammy for Nicholas and followed him onto the porch.

It was chilly out, with a fresh layer of snow on the ground. He paused for a moment to study the landscape, and spotted his ranch hands far off in the distance, bulky dark shapes against the all-consuming white. He made a mental note to call them in for a hot breakfast and sat down on the porch swing, settling Matthew in his lap, leaving enough room for Paige to sit beside him. "So, Matthew, this is my wife, Paige," he told the boy, reaching out to put a hand on Paige's shoulder.

"I'm going to be your new mommy, sweetheart," Paige said gently, reaching out to squeeze his tiny hand.

"My real mommy's dead, isn't she?" Matthew said in a broken voice, staring down at his lap. "My daddy killed her, didn't he?" His expression was now terrified, tears running down his cheeks. Dean knew he'd been balancing on a precipice before, and those tears sent him over. He suddenly felt extremely protective of this lost little boy, wanting to shield him from any harm. The battle in his heart was officially lost.

Dean honestly didn't know what to say to the kid, so he just hugged him, sensing that he needed someone to hold him together. "Matt, when I was your age, I saw something that scared me, too. I saw something really bad happen to my mom. She died when I was four…and she was killed by the same thing that killed your parents."

"He had black eyes," Matthew sniffed, pressing his face into Dean's shirt. He looked up at Dean, searching his face. "Did he have black eyes, too?"

He shook his head. "Yellow," he whispered. "I never saw her again. My dad raised me and my baby brother…to hunt and kill things like the thing that killed my mom. Like the thing that killed your mom and dad."

"Mommy said he was a demon," the boy sniffed, choking on his sobs.

"Shh," Dean soothed, pushing off of the ground so that the swing started to rock gently. "It was, Matthew. It was. And I promise that you'll always be safe here. That will never happen to you again. Ever. You and Nicholas will be safe here."

"Promise?"

"I promise," he swore with confidence, locking eyes with the boy's. He smiled when he saw mistrust swirling in Matthew's intense hazelish eyes. "You'll be safe here with us. You can have your own room. We've got three dogs. I'll even teach you how to ride a horse, if you want. But you don't have to stay here if you don't want to."

Matthew looked conflicted. While he obviously trusted Dean due to the rescue, he was having problems letting his parents and old life go. "Does Nicky get to stay with me?" he asked in a surprisingly strong voice. "Cuz if he doesn't I wanna leave right now!" His face transformed into an expression surprisingly willful for such a young boy.

Paige grinned. "Nicky will stay right here, with you, and me and Dean, and your new little brother Sammy," she promised him. "You never have to be separated." She looked at her husband and raised both eyebrows. Matthew reminded her of Dean, and had the same protective instinct towards his little brother.

"With me?"

"With you," she confirmed with a nod.

Matthew turned to look up at Dean, eyes narrowed and face deadly serious.

"With you," Dean promised, ruffling his hair. "And you can call us whatever you feel comfortable with, alright?"

The boy nodded, leaning forward to kiss Nicholas on the forehead. "Love you, Nicky," he whispered, smoothing his hair. "I'm gonna take care of you now that mommy and daddy are dead, okay?"

Dean and Paige smiled at the sight of their brotherly moment, and over how much Nicholas obviously adored Matthew. It was sweet, and at the same time, so very sad…they would never really be normal again. Hunters weren't exactly like normal people.

"There's just one more thing, Matthew," he said, bouncing his knees a bit to get the boy's attention. He waited for Matthew to give him his full attention before continuing. "We didn't get all the demons. Some of them got away." His heart tugged painfully when terror transformed the young face. "Shh, it's okay, they won't find you here. But to keep you two safe, we have to change your names. So you can pick any name in the whole world you want…just not the one you have."

Matthew looked uncertain, his brow furrowing in thought. "Will…will it protect me and Nicky?"

They nodded seriously, Paige shifting Nicholas in her arms so that he was more comfortable, as he was starting to crowd her baby bump just a bit.

"You don't have to choose right now, bud," Dean promised, putting a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Take some time to think about it. It will be your name for the rest of your life. You'll be safer that way."

"Okay," Matthew said quietly, looking down at his hands. He was quiet for a moment. "Can I choose a name of somebody I know? Somebody special?"

"Uh…" he trailed off, unsure. "Who were you thinking?"

"Owen Michael, I guess," the boy mumbled, shrugging. "Owen was my grandpa's name. He died when I was little. And I like Michael…and he saved me and Nicky." He ducked his head, embarrassed, missing the shard smile between his new foster/adoptive parents.

"Owen Michael it is, then," Paige said, cupping his chin and pulling his face up. "You're safe here, Owen. I promise."

He nodded uncertainly, tears swimming in his eyes. He wanted so badly to trust these people… he was too little to raise his baby brother by himself. And she was pretty and seemed nice, just like his momma had been. Maybe he could be safe here…the black-eyed people wouldn't get him. And he could have a dog again, and a soccer bedspread, and play all day long…and maybe Dean could be his new daddy, cuz his daddy had never been around. He'd always been out on business. He'd barely known his real daddy and mommy had always been at parties. Maybe, just maybe, he'd fit in here…his heart jumped at the thought of finally having a real family…

"Now, you must be hungry," she said gently, tweaking his nose. "Let's see what Ally is cooking up for us inside, shall we?"

_Owen_. The name washed over the little boy like a wave, and he hesitated a moment. He could be Owen. It'd be like being a superhero, taking a new name and all that. Excitement started to bubble up as he thought of being free to play without a nanny bossing him around. He hesitated a moment at his foster mom's question before grinning, jumping off Ally's lap, and heading slowly into the kitchen.

Dean sighed in relief and laid his head on the back of the swing. "That went over _way _better than I thought it would," he muttered, pulling her into his side and smiling down at the top of Nicholas' curly-haired head. "Took it like a pro, though I can tell he's freaked." He sighed. "So what do you want to name this little one?"

Paige shrugged – carefully – and blew her stray hair out of her face. "Always liked the name Brody," she commented. "Very rugged and manly." She smiled up at him. "With Keith for a middle name. That's my dad's middle name. It'll make him feel special when he grows up."

He leaned down to kiss her. "Brody Keith it is," he agreed. "Now let's go inside. I'm freezing." He marveled at the fact that these kids were as good as adopted into his family…he shuddered at the thought of paperwork. Paperwork was something he despised…

She got to her feet and didn't protest when Dean took Brody from her arms, holding the boy up at his shoulder. Wide green-blue eyes stared up at his face, before he seemed to accept this new mentor and slumped down on his shoulder, his thumb shoved in his mouth.

_

* * *

_

Twelve Days Later

Dean grumbled and rolled over, hand slapping the surface of his bedside table, searching for the annoying buzzing hindrance to his previously uninterrupted sleep. He and Sam had just gotten back from a hunt in Nebraska…the hunt had been an odd one, seeing as he'd ended up electrocuting himself and permanently damaging his heart. They'd given him a month…he hadn't even had the guts to tell Paige before Sam was dragging him to some faith healer in Nebraska. As it had turned out, the healer – Roy Le Grange – or rather, Roy's wife, had been using black magic in the form of a reaper to bring people back to life. To do so, the reaper killed an innocent person.

He should be in a hospital bed dying right now…but Roy had 'healed' him. Saved his life, at the expense of a swimmer, only a few years his senior and with his own life, too. The thought still made him sick, that something out of his control had exchanged his life for another's like that. He'd met a nice girl, Layla, and now she was going to die, but he got to live. The thought immediately soured his already poor mood.

Fate was a bitch.

And goddamn it, where was his phone, already? He continued slapping his hand across the wooden surface, searching for the damn nuisance…

On the bright side, he was alive again. No heart problems. At all. Which basically meant he'd come home, perfectly healthy and well, to his son, his two fostered children, and his beautiful wife. He'd played with the boys all day (Levi included, of course), and had been happy to find that Owen and Brody were so far adjusting slowly but well to their new lives and family and that Sammy generally enjoyed their company, so long as his routine wasn't disrupted. Life was the same as always for his son, just with two extra brothers added on. That night, he'd poured his heart out to his wife, every heart-wrenching detail, needing her comfort more than he cared to admit. Then, of course, he'd loved her until they both passed out from exhaustion.

Now that thought made a smile curve his lips. His searching fingers finally touched the edge of the phone, and he snapped it open and held it up to his ear.

"'Lo?" he mumbled, voice think and heavy with sleep.

"Dean?"

His eyes snapped open, adrenaline surging through his blood. Now, that was a voice he thought he'd never hear again. Fully awake now, he sat up, rubbing his face. "Uh, hello," he said, clearing his throat several times in hope of lessening the roughness of it. He was at a loss for what to say after that. She must have taken his shocked silence as invitation, and continued speaking in a shaking voice that broke several times in the same sentence.

"I-It's Cassie Robinson." A sob broke through on the phone line. "My dad…he died last night. And…and I think it has something to do with what you told me before we broke up." Her breath hitched. "Can…can you help me?"

"Uh…" he trailed off, rubbing his face again. "You still live in Cape Girardeau, Missouri?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"I'll be there as soon as I can," he promised, stifling a yawn.

"Oh, thank you, Dean!" she cried.

"Sure. See you soon." He hung up, staring down at the phone. Huh. He'd just agreed to help his ex-girlfriend. He scanned his room, slightly startled to find his wife's side of the bed empty. Grabbing the knife from under the pillow, he set out to investigate, not really startled, just…cautious. He needed to wake up Sam, anyway.

The door to Owen's room was cracked and light was spilling into the hallway. He pushed the door open carefully, peering inside to find Owen awake and curled up in his wife's arm crying his eyes out while she sang softly in his ear.

"Nightmare," she breathed softly, and he realized that the boy was crying even in his sleep. "Scared me half to death. He sleepwalked into our room. Didn't you hear him?"

"No," he whispered, leaning down to kiss her forehead. He sat beside her and rubbed her back. As much as he longed to comfort his foster son himself, he didn't have time. He had to get going; Cassie had sounded totally freaked. "I just got a phone call from an old acquaintance. Sam and I have to head out for Missouri right away."

"What happened?"

"Dunno yet, she didn't say," he whispered back, kissing her shoulder when a frown appeared on her face. "Don't worry. Ex-girlfriend from a long time ago. She thinks her father was murdered by a spirit of some kind."

Paige smiled and hugged him with one arm. "Then you better go get Sam and be off," she told him. "Spirits don't usually have timetables for killing."

"You trust me," he said with a huge grin, kissing her again.

"Duh, why else do you think I married you?" she teased, playfully pushing him and managing to not disturb Owen in the process. "_And _knock me up? Twice?"

He snorted and kissed her a third time, unable to stop himself. Even after years of marriage, he still loved the way she smelled, the way she tasted, the warmth and softness of her lips. Aaaand, if he didn't get off _that _particular train of thought right this second, things would end badly. Mentally shaking himself, he kissed her goodbye, and then leaned down to kiss the top of Owen's head.

"I'll be back as soon as I can," he promised. "Will you be okay?"

"I have Ally, Jared, and Elliot to help. Don't worry about me. Go."

Reluctantly, he left them there, closing the door gently behind him, trying to block out the memory of Owen's tear-streaked face. As he did every single time he left, he entered Sammy's nursery to kiss him goodbye, writing him a note on the pad on the wall so Paige could read it to him in the morning. He closed that door softly behind him before doing the same for Brody, even though the little guy couldn't understand it, anyway.

When he pushed open the door to Levi's nursery (Ally had finally cracked and just moved in with them, finally, claiming the second-biggest room in the house for her and Sam and a nursery for both Levi and the twins) he found Sam in the rocking chair with Levi sprawled on his chest.

Sam blinked and opened his eyes upon Dean's entry, confused until he saw Dean was fully dressed and obviously prepared for a hunt. His heart sank, his arms constricting slightly tighter around the sleeping form of his young son. "Hunt?" he guessed, excitement surging despite him having to leave Ally and Levi behind.

Dean nodded. "Missouri. I'm guessing ghost. I'll explain on the way." He took one look at the sleepy father and son and smiled. "I'll be downstairs finding something to eat in the car. Meet me in the kitchen."

He nodded and carefully levered himself out of the rocking chair, Levi's weight comfortable and now – finally – familiar in his arms. That awkward feeling had finally gone away. He levered his son carefully back into his crib, resting his elbows on the bar to watch his baby boy sleep. Levi's hair was long and mop-like, as was his, but was a bit lighter than his own dark chocolate locks. He had a Polish nose like him and Ally, and round cheeks like his mother. Unable to resist, he smoothed his hair off his forehead and placed a gentle kiss on his son's warm skin.

"I'll be back soon, baby," he promised, clicking the light off.

Ally snapped awake when he pushed their door open, her eyes wide and hair disheveled.

"Hey, Al," Sam sighed, pulling her into his arms. "We have to go on a hunt. I'll be back as soon as I can." He kissed the top of her head, smiling when her arms constricted around him in a tight hug. He pulled back to kiss her long and hard, satisfied when he pulled away and her lips were slightly swollen. "As soon as we get back, we can start planning our wedding. And I promise we'll paint the nursery, too."

She nodded and hugged him one more time. "Come back to me, Sam," she whispered, reaching up to gently tug on a lock of his hair.

"Always. I love you," he whispered back, kissing her goodbye one last time before gently setting his ring beside hers on the bedside table. "Tell Levi I love him for me."

"I will," she sighed, slumping back onto the pillows after seeing the time of four eighteen in the morning. As the door clicked shut behind her fiancé, her heart tugged in worry as it did every time he left. And then she succumbed back into sleep to catch a couple of hours before her son was up and rarin' to tackle the day.

* * *

The interior of the Impala was dark and quiet, the brothers silently sipping their coffee as the car roared towards Missouri. It was going to be a long drive, but both hoped they'd get halfway there before sunrise, depending on weather and traffic.

"Hey, Dean?" Sam asked after two hours of this silence.

"Hmm?" Dean replied, not feeling like talking. Too damn early.

"Does it ever get easier? Leaving them, I mean?"

Dean yawned and rubbed his eyes for the millionth time, glancing at his brother's brooding expression out of the corner of his eye.

"No, Sam," he sighed. "It doesn't."

"That's what I thought."

He didn't exactly need to reply to his little brother's rhetorical statement, so he didn't.

"So…this Cassie girl." Sam glanced over at his brother, catching his stony expression and sensing sensitive waters. "Tell me about her."

Dean groaned inwardly.

So much for their quiet car ride.

* * *

E/N: Okay, well, I could finish up editing the last half of this but it's like…midnight?...and I'm exhausted. I have to be up at 7 to chase around 18 five year olds, so I'm off to bed. Please ignore grammar mistakes, I'll probably catch the rest in the morning. Also, ignore any discrepancies with the adoption/fostering process. I tweak it to suit my own ends… bwahahaha. Sorry for the filler chapter…the action is in the next one.

**Reviews = LOVE**  
Seriously…without these, I would die.  
And that would be bad.  
*hint hint*


	26. Chapter 26

Author's Note: Hey, y'all. Uh, well, hope I didn't lose you…I didn't get many reviews, so I hope you're still with me. At this point I'm hesitant to post because nobody is reviewing, so… It's taking me a long time to type these and I apologize for that.

To all of my reviewers, thank you, you made this story possible. I hope to finish soon, I have maybe 10 chapters left before I start the sequel. To samgirl19, eminemchick, , TheAngelscry2, Bandit, amy, Zamp, and too many others to name….**LOVE** you guys, and thanks for your continued and constant support! It really makes this all worthwhile.

And now, without further ado, chapter twenty-six.

Disclaimer: Only own my OC's….. Kripke rules this world, I'm just playing in his sandbox.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Six  
**Ex-Girlfriends, Rubber Duckies, and Killer Trucks

"So," Sam pressed, rubbing his hands together and grinning crookedly. "By old friend, you mean…?"

"Friend that's not new," Dean said shortly, not looking at him.

Sam laughed shortly, shaking his head. "Yeah, thanks," he chuckled. That much was obvious. "So her name's Cassie, huh? You never mentioned her."

Dean shrugged. "We dated," he hedged, not exactly wanting to talk about it.

"Whoa," he said, holding a hand up, face shifting to one of shock. "You dated someone? For _more _than a night?"

Dean glared at his brother and held up his left hand. "Hello. Married? What, did you think I knocked up Paige or something and that's the only reason why I married her?"

"Well…uh…" Sam trailed off, looking uncertain. "I didn't really know," he finished lamely.

"Jesus, Sam," Dean said with feeling, shaking his head. "For the record, we dated for almost a year before I proposed. Our wedding was the following August. If you really _must _know, Sammy was conceived on our honeymoon."

"Who, way toooo much information, Dean," he protested, holding his hands up. "You still haven't answered my question, though. What's the deal with this Cassie girl?"

Dean remained silent, not looking across the car.

"Wait a second. How does she even know what we do anyway?"

This time, Dean's expression was sheepish.

"You _told her_?" Sam exploded, his mouth dropping open. When Dean didn't deny it, his temper simply blew up to epic proportions. He was so pissed he could barely see straight. "You told her! The big family secret, the one rule we were never supposed to break! I lied to Jessica for a year and a half, and you know this girl for a month and you freakin' _tell _her everything?"

"Yeah, guess so," Dean said coldly. And with that, he reached over and turned up the radio, sending 'Cold as Ice' blasting through his ears, suiting his bad mood. And with that, he and Sam roared along towards one of Dean's least-favorite memories in the world.

xxx

Sam was curious as they pulled into the town. Who was this Cassie girl? Why was Dean so sore about her? What had happened to make them break up, and why had Dean trusted her enough to tell her about his job, about hunting?

Questions flitted through his head like thousands of tiny bird wings, muddling his thoughts and giving him a headache. He was thinking too fast for his own brain to keep up. He kept wondering about her – how old she was, what she looked like, did she have a pretty smile – the list was endless. Dean was getting more and more tense as he parked the Impala and turned off the motor, seeming to gather himself before leading the way to the Newspaper Building.

The first thing he saw upon entering the door was a portly but kind looking black man talking to the mayor. There was a cocoa-skinned woman standing beside them, her dark hair a riot of thick curls, her dark eyes alive with fire as she argued with the mayor.

Well, she certainly wasn't gorgeous. But she wasn't ugly, either. And she looked stricken when she laid eyes upon his brother.

_Cue googely eyes,_ Sam said to himself.

Cassie was looking at Dean like he was the answer to life itself. The intensity of her gaze was enough to make even Sam uncomfortable. He stole a glance at Dean's face, unsettled to find it devoid of all emotion, his eyes hard and unreadable. His lips were pursed together and tilted down at the corners and his eyebrows drew slightly down.

Well, that was interesting. Dean was practically glowering at his ex-girlfriend.

"Dean," Cassie half-cried, half-sighed. She was looking at him like he was the wolf and she was his willing dinner. It was a little weird. Which made him wonder… had Dean been the one to break it off between them? It certainly seemed so.

"Hey, Cassie," Dean replied, his voice deep and gravelly. She walked up to him, the tension between them thick enough to cut with a knife. Despite himself, Sam's lips curled into a knowing smirk. Somewhat awkwardly, his older brother cleared his throat and gestured vaguely in his direction. "This is my brother, Sam."

Cassie offered him a brief smile, one that he returned, before her eyes snapped back to Dean's face.

"Sorry about your dad," Dean said quietly, looking slightly uncomfortable with the situation.

"Yeah, me too," she replied, just as softly, with a hint of longing in her tone.

Sighing, Sam decided to just follow along and see where it led him.

It didn't take long for the tension to show. By the time they were at her house and she was walking out with tea, Dean looked like he was ready to kill someone. As soon as she re-appeared, however, he schooled his expression back to normal, rubbing the spot on his left ring finger where his wedding ring usually rested.

"…she was worried about dad," Cassie was saying, pouring cups of tea.

"Why?"

"He was scared. He swore he saw an awful-looking black truck following him home."

"A truck?" Sam repeated.

Well, this case had just gotten interesting. He zoned out again for the most part, adding in questions to Dean's, until Cassie's mother walked in looked destroyed.

That was one of the drawbacks of the job.

Pain.

xxx

Sam rubbed his face and sifted through all the information in his head. So far, all of the victims had reported seeing an awful-looking black truck stalking them. And, so far, Dean and Cassie had only gotten nastier to each other, their conversations short and words clipped. It was obvious that the two had issues to dissolve. It was also obvious – to him at least – that Cassie's mom was hiding something. Clayton, Cassie's father, and Jimmy had all been killed. There were denting on all the cars. One set of tracks. It was infuriating.

After Cassie had implied the mayor was racist – a fact he had said she should check with her mom, a curious comment, to be sure – he and Dean had decided to act as insurance agents and talk to friends of the other victims, hoping beyond hope that one of them would know if Jimmy had seen the truck, too.

Which was how Sam found himself side-by-side with his brother in his motel room tying his tie and adjusting his suit. Dean had always hated suits, but seemed much more comfortable in them. He could only guess at the suit-worthy affairs he had been to with Paige in the years he'd been in college. If anything, he seemed a bit more comfortable than usual in them…though he obviously still didn't like to wear them.

"I'll say something about her, she's fearless," Sam commented, hoping to get his stoic brother to say something. Anything. In all the time they'd been alone he'd barely said a word the entire hunt. It was a little off, as Dean was the one who usually wouldn't shut up.

Dean just grunted and continued tying his tie, not looking at him. His expression was as stoic as ever.

"You know what's interesting?" he pressed, unperturbed when Dean neither looked at him nor responded. "You two never really look at each other at the same time. You look at her when's she's not looking, she looks at you when you look away…"

There, finally. Dean turned a cold glare in his direction, almost enough to get him to shut up. But not enough.

He broke eye contact with his brother and looked back in the mirror, adjusting his collar. "Just an interesting observation," he said nonchalantly. "You know, in an observationally interesting sort of way."

"Don't you think we might have more pressing issues here?" Dean growled, shooting his startled little brother another cold glare. Grumbling under his breath, he reached into his breast pocket, pulled out a picture of Paige and his three kids, and stuck it in the mirror to seal his point. His wedding ring he fastened around his neck along with his charm, keeping the ring itself under his shirt. But this way it was always with him, even if it wasn't open for public observation.

"Hey, if I hit a nerve…" Sam trailed off, fighting back a smirk.

"Oh, let's go," Dean snapped, striding out of the room without looking back.

Satisfied, Sam smirked and followed his older brother to the car.

An hour later, he and Dean had the info that Jimmy Anderson had indeed seen the big "monster" black truck. One of the men they'd met with had given them the information of a similar truck back in the sixties, that dragged off black men who were never seen nor heard from again. He and Dean had come to the conclusion that it was possibly a spirit carrying out the evil deeds again in the form of the monster truck.

"They all seem connected to Cassie and her family," Dean pointed out as he strode down the wharf beside his brother, arms swinging at his sides.

"Alright, well, you work that angle. Go talk to her."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Oh, and you might want to mention that other thing," Sam hinted.

"What other thing?" Dean growled, confused, though he had a nagging feeling he knew exactly what Sam was talking about.

"The serious unfinished business?" he prodded impatiently. "Dean, what is going _on _between you two?"

Dean bit his tongue for a minute, not really wanting to talk about his failed relationship. "Alright, so maybe we were a little more involved than I let on," he hedged.

Sam raised his eyebrows, waiting for expansion.

"Okay, a lot more," he reluctantly ground out. "And I told her the secret, about what we do. And I shouldn't have."

"Look, man, everyone has to open up to someone, sometime."

"Yeah, well, I don't. Not unless it's Paige. It was stupid to get that close. Look how it ended."

Sam just smiled a knowing smile that seriously freaked him out.

Dean glared at him, exasperated. "Would you _stop_?"

The smile neither faded nor wavered.

"Blink or something."

"You loved her," Sam said point-blank, expression still in place, making Dean seriously consider strangling him to death.

"Oh, God," Dean growled, turning his back on him and stalking for the car. The last person on earth he wanted to talk to this about was Sam. He had a sudden painful shot of longing arc though his chest as he realized who he _did _want to talk to was states away, sleeping alone in their bed.

"You were in love with her," Sam insisted. "But you _dumped _her."

Dean suddenly looked pissed, and a realization dawned on him.

"Oh, wow. She dumped you," he realized.

"It doesn't matter, Sam. It's in the past. I have Paige, now, and I'm the happiest I've ever been in my life. At least _she _didn't slam that door in my face." He rolled his eyes and opened his door. "Get in the car." He slammed his door and turned off the ignition, revving impatiently. He was too freakin happy to dump Sam's ass off and head over to Cassie's, weary for the pending confrontation.

He pounded twice on her door and waited for her to open it, coming inside as soon as she did, making a point to not touch her as he did so.

"So, you busy?" he demanded, wanting to get this over with.

"The paper is doing a tribute to Jimmy," she replied quickly. "I've just been going through his stuff… his awards…trying to find words."

Dean remained silent and didn't look at her, absently rubbing where his ring should be. He leaned lazily against the doorway, shoving his hands deep in his pockets and imaging Paige was kissing his children good night right about now. "That's gotta be tough," he said absently.

"The family who used to own the newspaper, the Dorians – they had a whites-only staff policy. As soon as they sold it, Jimmy became the first black reporter. He didn't stop until he became editor, you know." She put the file gently back on the desk. "He taught me everything…so, uh, where's Sam?"

"What does it matter where Sam is?" Dean replied coolly. Her gaze jumped to his, startled. "Because then it would be you, me, and Sam instead of just you and me, which would be easier?" He strode past her to the desk and flipped idly through the file.

Cassie's mouth opened and closed, no sound escaping. Fire ignited in her eyes. "I forgot you did that," she accused, hands clenching into fists.

"Do what?" he mocked.

"Shut me out. Anytime we get in the neighborhood of… what's the word, emotional vulnerability? You close yourself off."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Let's not forget who shut who out here. I wasn't the one to take that big final door and slam it behind me."

"I thought it was what you wanted!" she shouted.

"Well, it wasn't."

"I didn't mean to hurt you!"

"Well, you did!"

"I'm sorry," Cassie cried angrily.

"Yeah, me too," Dean snarled, his face not four inches from hers.

The two paused, staring at each other. Cassie leaned into kiss him, but was stopped when he gently pushed her back, releasing her as soon as there was suitable space between them.

"You hurt me, Cassie," he admitted flatly, unable to look away from her face.

"I know, Dean. I didn't…I thought you were crazy."

"I'm not."

"I know that now," she whispered, looking down. "I thought you wanted out. I really did."

"This is what I do. This is what I've always done, ever since I was a kid. And as soon as this happened, you realized you were wrong." Dean smiled bitterly. "Oh, well. You're no different than the rest of the people I've met. Some of them even deny it when it's right in front of their face."

"Is there no hope for us, Dean?"

"Nope," he admitted honestly, not wanting to hurt her but doing so anyway. She looked hugely upset. "Look, Cassie. What happened between us… it ended before it really began. But I moved on."

"Moved on?"

"I'm married, Cassie," Dean told her point-blank, reaching down and pulling his ring out from under his shirt. His finger absently traced over the simple silver band. "I don't wear it on hunts because I'm afraid I'll lose it or get it caught on something."

"What's her name?"

"Does it matter?" he said with a slight smile. "I've a home, a family, Cassie. So this… this here, it can never happen. Ever."

"I loved you, Dean."

"I loved you, too – a long time ago. But I love _her_ now. And I won't hurt her, not like this. Not ever. She's all that matters to me in this life. She's given me everything I could ever ask for, and more."

"Are you at least happy?"

"Yes," he admitted. He nodded to the couch. "I'll sleep down here."

xxx

Cassie crept downstairs long after nightfall. She was curious – she simply _had _to know. So she made her way through the dimly lit room, glancing down at Dean on the couch. He was dead to the world, covered in only a simple thin blanket, his socked feet sticking off the end of the couch. He was facing the couch, so she couldn't see his face – which at this point was a bit of a blessing.

There was a bag on the chair across from the couch, his clothes neatly folded beside them, his boots sitting under the couch. On the top was a leather-bound journal. She reached for it and picked it up silently, running her hand over the weathered cover. She opened it carefully and flipped the top cover open, glancing to make sure Dean was still dead to the world. He was.

She began to read. There was a picture of a handsome dark-haired man with two little boys, sitting on the hood of a car. She could tell that the older was Dean and the younger was Sam. She just skimmed over most of it – she could hardly understand most of it anyway – only to find that Dean hadn't been kidding.

He hunted spirits, ghosts…all sorts of "mythical" uglies.

She flipped to the back cover, and found pictures tucked tenderly between the last page and back cover. Holding them up, she felt a stab of pain shoot through her. The first was a wedding picture – Dean looked handsome in his tuxedo, and his blonde bride was stunningly beautiful. Her heart tugged painfully. That should have been her. If only she'd listened to him. If only she'd _believed _him.

The other two photographs were simple – one of the same man with a little boy, a baby, and a pretty woman with _John, Mary, Dean & Little Sammy _scrawled on the back. The other was of Dean, his blonde wife, and three little boys, with _Dean, Paige, Owen, Sammy, & Brody _printed neatly on the back.

Cassie exhaled a shaky breath, closed the journal, replaced it in his duffel bag, and went back upstairs.

It was time to let Dean Winchester go.

**

* * *

**

Thunder Creek, Wyoming

March 19, 2006

It was a calm, for once clear, and slightly warmer-than-normal day in Thunder Creek, for March anyway. The town was probably out and about enjoying the first steady appearance of the sun in a very long time. It was a time for rejoicing – the winter months were nearly passed. Soon, it would grow warm again, and the snow would melt into the brief spring before the summer heat and warmth arrived to bring the land alive and green again.

Paige stood at the stove whipping up the usual Saturday morning breakfast, lost in thought while the pancakes sizzled on the griddle and the bacon popped in the pans. She was so distracted she nearly jumped out of her skin when her best friend's hand grabbed the spatula out of her lax grasp.

"Good morning," Ally greeted her.

"'Morning," Paige repeated, smiling at her friend and hoping she didn't notice the dark circles.

"Didn't sleep well last night, huh?"

Well, so much for that thought. Ally knew her almost better than she knew herself. "No," she admitted, not even bothering with a lie. "I didn't sleep well at all."

"Still dreaming about the tank?" Ally guessed, not looking up from the eggs she was scrambling. She sensed her friend tense beside her before relaxing and rubbing her face. "They still bad?"

"Worse when Dean's not around," Paige admitted quietly. "Except now…now I have these nightmares about the demon that killed Owen and Brody's parents. I'm afraid that one night I'm going to wake up to find everyone dead and the boys gone. It scares me, Al. and it shouldn't, because I'm a hunter, too. All the same, I just… I keep picturing something taking away those little boys."

"You're attached to them already, aren't you?"

Paige nodded somewhat miserably. "The social worker hasn't even come yet. For all I know she'll just take them away, and then _poof_. Back to just me and Little Sammy." She flipped the pancakes with a little more force than necessary. "They aren't my kids and I know that, Al. But I love them like they are. I just hope someday they'll be comfortable enough to call me and Dean mom and dad, you know?"

For a long while her friend was quiet. "I suppose I know what you mean," she sighed. "They are really sweet little kids. They seem to be adjusting well, too, all things considered. Does Owen still have night terrors?"

"Sometimes. They haven't been as bad recently though. He slept through the night all last week and seems to be relaxing well into our lifestyle."

"Well, I'm glad they're here. I hope one day they'll call me Auntie Ally."

"Me, too, Al. Me, too."

"Breakfast!"

The women turned to find Owen standing just inside the doorway, his entire face lit up with excitement. His hazel eyes gleamed with joy as he sprinted for the stove, vaulting up onto the counter to look in the pans.

"PANCAKES!" he cheered, dropping back to the ground and pumping his fists in the air, dancing a little happy dance in the middle of the kitchen.

"Owen, calm down, please," Paige instructed, grabbing him in a one armed hug from behind and picking him up so that he dangled limply, grinning like a fool. "Your brothers are still sleeping."

"Aww…"

She put him down and was surprised when he threw his arms around her waist and hugged her tight, his face buried in her lower back. "Morning," he said brightly as he released her, sprinting into the family room.

With an exasperated sigh, Paige followed him, just in time to see him knock over the DVD stack in his haste to get _Robots _free. "Slow _down, _Owen," she requested, grabbing him in a gentle headlock and ruffling his blonde hair. "You only make a huge mess. Be patient."

Owen looked up at her, his expression puckered and annoyed, before he realized she was right and sat back to let her put the movie in. He sat with his little arms crossed, his eyebrows and shoulders hunched downward, and his mouth set in an angry pout.

"I hate you," he muttered, looking away.

The words nearly tore her heart in half. She sucked in a slightly unsteady breath and pulled his arms out of their crossed position, pulling him around so he was forced to look at her.

She sighed. Owen had these bouts of attitude about six times a day. Sometimes they were okay, sometimes they were _really _bad. But, she knew from experience and from reading the ever-helpful parenting magazines that he was testing his boundaries. He was trying to see how far he could go; but most of all, he was testing the length of her and Dean's growing love for him. Eventually he'd figure out that they loved him and would never give him up, but for now…

He was a brat.

"That wasn't a nice thing to say," she said quietly, skillfully hiding how much his words had hurt her. "Would you want someone to say something like that to you?"

Defiant hazel eyes glared up at her before shifting away.

"Owen, I want you to listen to me for a minute." Paige waited for Owen to quit glaring at the wall and look up at her again. "Dean and I are going to adopt you. You will never have to leave if you don't want to. If you don't want to leave, then that's fine. If you do, we won't stop you. It's entirely up to you."

Owen remained silent, but his eyes shone with a heart-breaking flash of hope. He looked up at her, his lip wobbling unsteadily before he jumped up on the couch and burrowed into the pillows, quietly watching while the movie started.

"But I need you to understand that you're a part of our family now. We're never leaving you. Ever." She smiled and reached out to gently ruffle his blonde hair. "Okay?"

With a speed that startled her, he launched himself off the couch, his arms constricting around her neck in an almost painfully tight hug. He buried his face in the crook of her neck and held on for dear life. "I'm sorry," he whimpered into her neck.

She hugged him back, twisting slightly so the pressure was less on her baby bump. When he finally let go, his eyes were dry and he was smiling again. He seemed to be…peaceful, like she'd put one of his fears to rest. She hoped so. It broke her heart to see him cry.

"When's Dean coming home?" Owen asked, sitting in her lap and resting his arm on the top of her baby bump, his palm pressed down almost absently, silently hoping the baby would kick.

"In a few days, buddy. He's going to Missouri to help out an old friend."

"He's coming back, right?"

"He always comes back, Owen."

Owen nodded. "Can I watch the movie now? Before Sammy and Levi get up and make tons of noise so I can't hear?"

"Sure, honey." She reached for the control and started it for him, smiling when he slipped off her lap in favor of snuggling into her side instead. He curled up like a cat, arms wrapped tightly around a pillow, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning when the movie finally started.

He seemed so transfixed on it that it was like she'd never seen it before.

"Owen, did your old mommy and daddy let you watch TV?"

"No," he replied solemnly, peeking up at her. "My nannies said it wasn't good for my brain cuz I had to go to a special school so I'd be smart." He sniffed and rubbed his eyes. "All I ever got to do was play chess and do math. Boring."

"Oh," Paige replied, slightly startled. She'd forgotten that most rich families – hers not included – tended to let nannies raise their children. In all truth, though, it was a little startling to hear a four-year-old tell her in such plain terms. "Okay, buddy, I have to go help Auntie Ally make breakfast. Can you sit tight here for a while?"

"Sure," Owen replied with a yawn, shifting so he was snuggled comfortably into the cushions instead. He rested his head on the pillow, eyes glued on the screen. She stood and headed back to the kitchen.

Ally's eyes were worried. "Hey, you okay?" she said gently, hugging her best friend. "I heard what he said."

Paige nodded and hugged her back, appreciating the gesture. "Owen didn't mean it, Al," she sighed, pulling away and rubbing her face. "He's just testing his boundaries. That's all. It was the same with Jay's adopted daughter Isabella, remember? She gave them hell until she figured out they'd love her no matter what. They she calmed down. And now she's sweet as pie and calls Jay and Nicole dad and mom."

"Will Owen get there?"

"I think so," she sighed. "He's getting there, Al. It's just going to take some time. He's afraid of being abandoned."

"Can you blame him?" Ally said with a wry smile. "I'd be freaked of that, too, going through what he went through."

"Hmm," Paige agreed, returning to her post at the kitchen stove, making the eggs absently, used to the motion. "Hey, Ally? Do you ever feel like you're losing him?"

Ally glanced up from the pancakes she'd just finished putting on a plate. "What do you mean?" she said quickly, stiffening in surprise.

Paige shrugged. "I don't know. I just feel sometimes like Dean is on a completely different planet than me, you know?"

"Well…men are from Mars and women are from Venus. So that would make sense."

She snorted and looked at her friend squarely. "I was being serious, Al."

"Okay, okay," Ally sighed, rubbing her face. "Serious." She made a face. "I feel like that all the time. Sam's so wrapped up in revenge that he fails to see the little things."

"And Dean is so wrapped up in helping Sam that I think he forgets that he can have a happy life, if he wants. Our families are so screwed up…" Paige mumbled, scowling down at the now cooked eggs. "Normal people put family before their work, but hunters… if it comes down to it, the job wins. Every time."

"I don't know how true that statement is, Paige. Maybe for some, but…do you _see _the way that boy looks at you?" As Ally spoke, her eyebrows rose into her hairline. "It's like he comes to life whenever he's near you. Don't get me wrong, he loves Sam and his dad. He'd die for them. But what he feels for you…it's a different type of love. It's more intense than anything I've ever seen. You two move like two halves of the same whole." She smiled faintly and put a hand on her friend's shoulder. "He loves you. More than I think even you know. He's torn, I'd bet. Between his dad and his brother…and you. Have you talked to him about this?"

"I'm a little afraid to bring it up," Paige admitted, staring absently out the window at the softly falling snow.

"Afraid of what part? Him saying he cares more for the job, or more for you?"

"I don't know, Al. I honestly don't know." She glanced at her friend, pain flashing in her eyes. "I just… I can't lose him, Ally. I can't. I already lost – " her breath hitched, " – Chris. I don't think I'd survive it this time. I just… I love him so much… not in the same way as Chris, but more like if he died, I'd just be an empty shell."

"You'd have to, for your kids, honey. Believe me, it's the same on my end." Ally wiped a stray tear from her cheek and wrapped her in a hug. "Sometimes I see him staring off into space, Paige. I know how you feel. I know that when he does that, he's imagining that it's Jessica and not me. I honest to God don't even know why he wants to marry me. I mean, we agreed when he first found out about Levi that it's too dangerous for me to be around him…but now I'm having his kids, again, and I just…

"I want to give Levi a father. But I know, deep down in my heart, that I love him to the depth of my soul. But he'll never love me like that. He can't…because he's still in love with Jessica. And he's going to hold onto that, to add rage to his thirst for revenge, to power him forward." She hugged her friend tighter, resting her cheek on the familiar curve of Paige's strong shoulder. "I can see it, you know. Him completely falling apart. Somewhere along the way I'm going to lose him, in one way or another. And I would like to spare myself, Levi, and these babies the pain of going through that. Of losing their dad. This revenge, this hate…eventually it will consume him, and the Sam that I knew, the Sam that I love… he'll never come back."

"Not if Dean has anything to say about it," Paige countered quietly. "He'd do anything for Sam. Die for him. Anything to make him happy – he'd do it. No matter what the consequences. That's why he just lets Sam stomp all over him sometimes." She sniffed and wiped her eyes. "Someday, Ally, as much as I hate to say it, he's going to trample Dean's heart. He's going to hurt him, again. And I'll be left to pick up the pieces. Because Sam won't do it and neither will John. If it wasn't for Dean, that family would have completely fallen apart years ago."

"For both our sakes, I hope that never happens," Ally whispered. She released her friend and took a deep breath, resting a hand gently on her stomach. "But for now, should we go wake up our sons?"

"Sure," Paige replied, setting plates over the food to keep it warm, peeking in on Owen to see him engrossed in his movie, and then following Ally up the stairs to get her youngest sons ready for the day.

xxxM

"Paige?" Ally called, moving through the giant house, grumbling in annoyance when she didn't find her friend in the kitchen, the living room, or the laundry room. Where the heck was she? She looked down the hallway, met with a ton of open doors she'd never felt the need to venture into before. Sighing, she ambled down the hall, peeking into every room. Her curiosity got the better of her and she found herself opening every door.

There were three guest rooms on the bottom floor, on the left hand side of the home, with windows that showed the full landscape of the beautiful ranch. The rest of the rooms were slightly surprising. There was a giant miniature gym, complete with every sort of equipment imaginable and in one corner a sort of martial arts training area with the stiff white uniforms hung in niches on the wall, the belts hanging on neat hooks. In one room were easels and tables, with sketches and all sorts of completed or half-finished artwork – Paige's art room, then. She made a mental note to spend more time in that room.

In addition to those was another room with waist-high tables in the middle, littered with measuring tapes and pencils and blueprints for some sort of giant underground bunker. The walls were dotted with pages upon pages of plans, mathematical formulas, and three-dimensional figures. Her favorite room was an impressive old-style library much like the one in the Biltmore House – it even had a giant fireplace and comfy couches.

There were two rooms attached to the library – the first was a modern looking room with desks and computers along one wall. The other three walls were occupied by ceiling-high bookcases. She spared a moment to peer at the titles in the spines, and discovered the texts were varying types of supernatural references. There was a shelf hanging above the desks, each slot holding a little leather-bound journal. She pulled one out and flipped it open, to find a photocopied version of Paige's great-great-great Grandfather John Malcolm Newbern's original hunting journal. The rest belonged to the other hunters in her family, one of them a photocopied version of Paige's own journal, as well as every journal from the Baraldi family, as well.

Not to say she'd didn't _know _her best friend was as filthy rich as she was, it was just…strange to see it so under-presented.

Ally finally located Paige when she spotted the second archway branching off from the huge library – a comfy-looking study, complete with window seats, family photos, and a large desk with a set up of two giant iMac computers perched upon the mahogany wood desktop. Perched in the rolling chair was her best friend, leafing through stacks of what appeared to be bills. She would guess they were probably dual-screen, seeing as her friend's eyes darted back and forth between them.

"Well, hello there," she greeted Paige with a dry smile. "Thanks for letting me know you disappeared in here."

"Sorry," Paige sighed, shooting her a faint smile. "I try to pay bills and stuff once a week while the kids take their naps."

"How bad is it?" Ally sighed, collapsing onto one of the window seats and curling into a comfortable position.

"Eh, not too bad," she replied absently, typing away on her iMac. "I don't know about you, but my trust fund grows every year, so I've got nothing to worry about financially."

"Hmm, same here." Ally yawned hugely and settled back, settling onto the big cushy pillow and rubbing her eyes. "Where's yours at?"

"Somewhere in the neighborhood of three hundred and twenty-one million, depending. Yours?"

"'Bout three hundred and ninety-five, actually. I've only got one sibling, though, so mine's bigger. You've got three, remember?"

"No duh. But only one of them is alive."

Ally cleared her throat awkwardly after that statement. "So when do Sam and Dean get home?"

"No idea," Paige admitted, glancing at her from over the top of her computer. "It's going to be a busy few months though. We've got Jared and Rachel's wedding to plan, don't forget. My baby boy is due around July second…your twins are due in September…you and Sam still have to plan the wedding, if you're not having second thoughts, that is…the social workers will be stopping by to determine if I can keep Owen and Brody…" she trailed off, shrugging. "Like I said, stressful."

"Hmph."

"Oh, and I should also probably mention that Jared's birthday is the week after next. So, basically, my entire family's going to be here. Your parents are flying in from California and so is my dad."

"You're dad is in California? I thought he lived here, in Wyoming."

Paige rolled her eyes. "Come on, Al. He goes back and forth between the ranch house and Malibu. He has to, to be close to the business. Same reason your dad lives in California. They can't be co-CEO's from a different state. It wouldn't be the same."

"Riiiight…" she muttered.

"Dorkweed. Anyway, you should probably know that this town is going to be flooded with my relatives. Fun times."

"Is your uncle coming?"

"Which one? I've got twelve. I assume you mean my Uncle George?" Paige said, smirking when her friend nodded. "Hell, yeah. The Commandant of the Marine Corps wouldn't miss his nephew's birthday for the world. He'll probably bring half the Corps with him, too. So to answer your unasked question, yes, your brother will be able to bug the hell out of him like he did last time, never fear."

Ally just slumped down onto the pillow with a weary groan. Dealing with the insanity that was the Knox and Newbern families, not to mention her own family, was _not _going to be fun.

At all.

* * *

**Cape Girardeau, Missouri**

Dean was awoken by the annoying shrill of his cell phone underneath the pillow he was currently snoring all over. He grunted in annoyance, flipped it open, and somehow managed to roll over, untangle himself from the blankets, stand up, and put it to his ear all in the same motion. A quick glance said Cassie wasn't around so he hurriedly dressed into clean clothes.

"Go ahead," he grunted as he stepped into his boots, trapping the phone between ear and shoulder so he could lace them.

"Hey," Sam replied, his voice heavy. "You better get over here, Dean."

Sam sounded stressed, big time. Dean was immediately on the offensive.

"What happened?" he demanded as Cassie appeared in the doorway, fully clothed with a cup of coffee steaming in her hand.

"Mayor Todd is dead."

"You're kidding."

"Nope."

Dean listened while Sam gave him directions. He hung up and sighed, rubbing his tired eyes. "Mayor Todd is dead," he announced, not looking up at Cassie's sharply inhaled breath. He shrugged into his leather jacket and grabbed his keys. "Come on."

Xxx

Sam was rubbing the back of his head when Cassie and Dean arrived. He led them over to the cops, who gave Cassie the explanation that the mayor's insides had turned to pudding, like he'd been run over by a truck. But there were no tracks.

Dean and Sam were worried now. The truck had broken pattern… Mayor Todd wasn't African-American like the three other victims. Which meant that the truck had another motive, besides being racist or whatever.

Later than night, the brothers discovered the source of Mrs. Robinson's bitterness… she had dated Cyrus, back in the day, while dating her husband in secret. She'd broken it off with him, deciding to marry Martin instead. They'd eloped last minute, but Cyrus burned down the church they had planned on, killing an entire children's choir that was practicing inside. That truck had come for many, and Cyrus had killed them all. It eventually came for Martin, and Cyrus beat him something awful. Martin had fought back, and killed Cyrus. Along with friends Jimmy and Clayton, they put Cyrus in his truck and wheeled it into the swamp. Mayor Todd had been a young deputy at the time, who had guessed what happened and done nothing because he also knew that Cyrus had killed all those African-Americans. Audrey Robinson and the four friends kept that secret for decades, and she finally told them because she was the only one left.

This explained why the truck had killed Mayor Todd…because he was in on Cyrus' murder. The spirit itself had been awoken when Mayor Todd demolished the old Dorian home to build a new one.

Now, Dean and Sam had to kill it, because it had already marked Audrey and Cassie as its next targets. And the best place to look was the swamp.

Dean strode down the lawn towards the Impala, Sam trailing behind.

"So, after we're done hunting and dad, do you think you'll go back?" he asked curiously.

"Go back? To what, Dean?" Sam replied with a sigh as both of them leaned against the Impala.

"To a normal life."

Sam laughed shortly. "Like yours?" he prodded.

Dean shrugged but didn't say anything, choosing instead to stare off into space.

"You know, Dean, occasionally I miss boring."

He smiled. "So do I," he admitted. He rubbed his hands together. "So, this killer truck…"

"I miss conversations that don't start with 'this killer truck'," Sam said with a laugh, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Yeah, me too. So this truck… pull it up outta the swamp, salt and burn old Dorian?"

"Sounds like a plan to me," Sam agreed. He spotted Cassie heading towards them and elbowed his brother, nodding in her direction.

"Are you sure this is going to work?" Cassie said as she got within earshot.

"It should," he said on her behalf.

"But just in case it doesn't… don't leave the house," Dean ordered, his tone broking no argument.

"Don't go getting all authoritative on me, I hate it," Cassie snapped, crossing her arms and glaring up at him.

"Don't come outside, please?" he amended, satisfied when she reluctantly nodded.

"Alright, well, I guess we'll see you when we get back."

Cassie nodded and watched them drive away. As soon as the headlights disappeared, she hurried into her house. She knew her mother was upstairs and made herself a cup of tea, sitting in the living room. Minutes passed into nearly an hour, and she started to get worried.

"Sorry, Dean," she muttered as she opened the front door and headed to her car. "But I have to know if you're okay."

She started up the ignition and headed down the road. Her heart jumped in her chest when she spotted twin headlights in her rearview mirror. She accelerated, her heart pounding, her fingers tight on the steering wheel.

"Come on, come on, come on…" she muttered, urging the car to go faster.

The jar of being struck threw her forward. The car careened out of control, and she frantically attempted to regain that control. She was shaking so hard she could barely think straight. Is this was her father had felt right before he died? Is this what his last living moments had been? What would her mother think… what would she do, when –

Again, her car was struck. The car was in a deadlock, skidding across the pavement, onto the dirt. She saw a tree, looming up ahead of her.

Her car wouldn't turn.

She was going to hit it.

Not even time for a prayer.

The Impact threw her forward, her head smashing the dashboard. There was a moment of all-consuming pain before she went numb with shock, her blood running down her forehead and blurring her vision.

In her side mirror, she saw the black truck rev twice before backing up and fading from view.

And then her world went black.

**

* * *

**

Thunder Creek, Wyoming

"Up and at 'em, Mophead," Paige's voice said loudly.

Groaning, Ally rolled over and buried her face in her pillow. She was tired and grumpy, no thanks to Paige's terrifying screams echoing through the house last night. Apparently she'd lied about not having nightmares about the tank anymore – yet another thing to stress about. She buried farther into the pillow, hoping Paige would go and leave her be. She should have known better. The covers were whipped back and the pillow was suddenly gone, leaving her head to thump heavily against the mattress, hard enough to make her nose sting. With an angry yelp, she sat up in bed to glare at her friend.

Paige just grinned lazily. "Well, hello there, princess. Bout time you graced us with your presence," she teased, tossing the pillow and blanket back on the bed.

"What time is it?" she growled, rubbing her nose and continuing to glare.

"Ten fifteen."

"Ten fifteen! In the _morning_?"

"Is there an echo in here?" Paige teased, reaching over to ruffle her hair. "You seemed really tired last night, so I decided to let you sleep in."

"And you? Did you ever go back to sleep?"

Paige suddenly looked uncomfortable, her gaze shifting downward to study the top of her boots. She crossed her arms over her chest and bit her lip. "You heard, huh?"

"Little hard not to, sis," Ally said gently, rubbing her eyes. "You were screaming at the top of your lungs, and I'm next door." She smiled and noticed her friend looked better rested than she had all week. "So how'd you sleep?"

"Noah kept me company," she admitted quietly, shifting from foot to foot.

That surprised Ally. Noah and Michael must have stopped by after a case to sleep in the guest rooms instead of a motel on the way back home to Colorado.

"So…you slept okay, then?"

"Yeah." Her eyes flew up suddenly, startled. "He stayed on top of the covers. It was just… it reminded me of when I was little and Chris used to stay with me so I'd be okay. That's all. Nothing more."

"I know, relax. I've known Noah since we were little, too. I understand completely." Ally sighed, stretched, and got out of bed, rubbing her belly absently. "He's your sort of… replacement big brother. Though nothing will replace Chris, but he's the closest you'll get."

Paige looked relieved and enveloped her in a tight hug, which Ally returned. "How do you always understand me," she sniffed.

"Because I'm your sister, and it's my job to be awesome," Ally replied, grinning as Paige pulled away. "Now what's for breakfast?"

"Breakfast?" She snorted. "Hon, you missed breakfast. I already got the kids up, dressed, fed, brushed their teeth, and got them all squared away. We ate at seven thirty, and then the boys were off an rarin' to go."

"Oh. Thank you." Ally was more than aware of how high-maintenance her young son could be.

"Not a problem. He's my nephew." Paige grinned and led her out of the room. "Though, I have to say, I think you need to get Lee checked for some, uh…disorders."

"Disorders?" Ally repeated, alarmed. "What do you mean?"

Grinning, Paige led her into the playroom. "Look," she said, gesturing at the room. "That's Sammy's side, and that's Levi's side."

Ally studied the two sides of the room. Sammy's side was somewhat orderly, but was for the most part a total mess. There were blocks everywhere and toys spilling out of the bins. She looked at Levi's side of the room, to see that his blocks were neatly stacked and stored in the bookcase-like block holder with corresponding stickers for the space each block belonged in. The stuffed toys were packed neatly into his bin, the rug was smoothed, his toy trucks were lined up in a neat row against the wall, and his Lego bins were stacked neatly on top of one another.

"I _think _he's got slight OCD," Paige said, smirking. "I didn't do any of that. He did. All by himself."

There was a cry from the kitchen, and Paige excused herself. She left her best friend mulling over the news while she searched out the maker of that cry, finally finding him in his walker, joyfully pounding against the toys fastened on the walker and grinning madly.

"Brody Keith," she crooned, reaching down to pull him up and swing him around, finally pulling close to rub noses with him while he giggled ecstatically. She noisily kissed his cheek before settling him on her hip, bouncing him up and down and reaching a hand to curl his hair around her finger. It stuck straight up. "You are adorable."

Brody began to babble baby talk, his grin huge and happy. He had slept through the night for the first time two days ago and seemed to have forgotten all about his old life. That was a good thing, but at the same time, it was sad.

"What am I gonna do with your brother, huh?" she asked him, tickling his sensitive belly. He went into a full-body laugh, kicking his feet and squirming, giggling like mad.

"Are you torturing that poor kid?" a familiar deep voice acquired, accompanying a blast of cold air from outside. When she looked up, Noah was standing there in snow gear, grinning broadly. His cheeks and the end of his nose were tinged pink, but he looked happy as can be.

"Well, he seems to like it," she replied with a grin to match his, swinging Brody around before finally settling him in her arms, one arm braced under his bottom, the other over his chest so that he could see everything. He began to chew contentedly on his fist while he gazed up at Noah with a lopsided grin.

Noah shrugged out of his snow jacket and hung it on the peg, kicking off his boots and striding in socked feet to scoop the little boy into his arms, swinging him around. "Man, are you cute," he said with a playful growl, blowing raspberries on the baby's stomach.

Paige smiled warmly at the scene. "This from the man who claims to be a manwhore," she teased, lightly smacking his arms.

"Hey, you didn't mind said manwhore keeping Dean's side of the bed warm," Noah bantered back, bending down to kiss the crown of her head to show he was only teasing. "I was one of the many who promised Chris to look after you, and that's exactly what I plan to do."

"Thanks, Noah," Paige said as he wrapped her in a one-armed hug, resting his chin on the crown of her head. She buried her head in his chest and breathed out a shaky breath.

"You're welcome, baby cakes."

"Don't call me baby cakes."

"Whoa," Ally's voice interrupted as she came upon the scene. The pair pulled apart, Brody clapping excitedly as he spotted her, his face splitting with a grin. "Man, that kid is so damn _cute_."

"Language," Paige and Noah said at the exact same time.

Ally stuck her tongue out at them. "Where is my kid?" she wondered, not spotting (or hearing) him anywhere.

"Outside with Mikey," Noah replied, handing Brody back to Paige. "We're building snowmen. Care to join us?"

"Sure," Ally said with a smile. She looked at Paige. "You coming?"

"I'm going to bundle him up, and then I'll join you," Paige promised, disappearing.

"Nice haircut, Mophead," Noah commented as he pulled his snow gear back on. He smirked at her when she shot him a glare.

"Don't hate," Ally demanded. "Us Mops are an endangered species, you know."

"Oh really."

"Really. And we are actually intelligent, we just choose not to show it ninety-three percent of the time."

Noah laughed outright. He had a pleasant laugh, deep and a little rough. Very manly. Ally ignored that thought – _manwhore, _she reminded herself – and pulled on her mittens.

"So tell me, oh intelligent one, what color does a Smurf turn if I choke it?" he inquired, his lips tilted into a smirk. There was a devilish twinkle in his eye.

Ally grinned and opened the door. "Green with pink polka dots," she replied with a wink.

The giant's booming laugh followed her out into the snow.

xxx

_(Later than night)_

"Alright, you lot, into the tub, come on," Ally ordered, herding the three little boys into the largest guest bathroom, Paige right behind her with Brody on her hip wrapped up in a white towel with a ducky on the hood.

"You boys have fun in the snow today?" Paige asked as she helped Sammy remove his shirt.

"Yeah!" Sammy, Owen, and Levi replied in unison.

"In the tub, monkeys," she said with a laugh, lowering Brody to the warm, bubble-filled water. He immediately started to slap the bubbles, giggling, sending bubbles flying everywhere. There were three splashes as Owen, Levi, and Sammy jumped in.

"This isn't a tub, it's a friggin' Jacuzzi," Ally observed as she started soaping Levi's hair. It was true, too. Dean and Paige had similar tubs in all the ranch houses' bathrooms and they were all giant. This one was made of the same marble as the floor and the countertops and was sunk into the floor itself, making the water about three feet deep when filled to the brim. It had twelve jets set in the sides, so basically, it was the most epic tub ever made.

Paige grinned and pushed a toy alligator and a toy duck across the tub. Sammy and Levi squealed with delight and splashed, sending bubbles flying everywhere. She and Ally laughed at their sons' bubble mustaches.

Owen was making engine noises as he pushed a boat around, skillfully keeping it out of Brody's curious gasp. He made a noise of dislike when Paige started rubbing soap into his hair.

"Moooooooom!" Owen protested, swatting her hand away, his mock anger ruined by the little tilt of a smile at the corner of his lips.

The women froze, both of them looking down at the boy. Paige's heart melted as a huge smile spread across her face. That was the first time Owen had ever called her mom. She continued scrubbing his hair, tickling him when he tried to push her hand away. She somehow managed to get his hair rinsed before moving onto Sammy, who tried to squirm out of her grip but to no avail.

It was quite a chore, getting four little boys soaped and rinsed. They'd rolled around in the snow and dirt, getting filthy in the process. Some even had clumps of stuff in their hair that the two moms didn't even want to guess about.

The phone rang, and Paige hurriedly dried her hands before she grabbed it off the counter.

"Hello?"

"Hey, baby."

"Hmm. It's been an awfully long two weeks, Dean," she told her husband dryly, relief flooding through her at the sound of his voice.

Dean sighed. "I know."

"Did you finish the job alright?"

The silence after that proved her suspicions. She heard a siren in the background.

"Dean, what's going on?" she asked quietly.

"Something happened," Dean said cautiously.

"Oh my god! You're not hurt, are you?" she demanded, clutching the counter as Ally looked up, alerted by the tone of her voice.

"What? No, no, it's not me," Dean said at once. "It's…it's Cassie."

"What happened?" she wondered.

He paused, drawing a deep breath. "Cassie is dead. The truck got her before we could stop it, Paige."

"Dead?" she said softly, shocked.

"Yeah." She could hear the pain and regret echoing volumes, even in that one simple word.

"Are you coming home?" _Please be coming home, Dean. We need you here._

Her husband paused and she heard Sam's voice and the trunk of the Impala slam.

"Please, Dean," she said softly. "Come home."

"Yeah, alright. I'll come home."

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

"I know. Give the boys a kiss goodnight for me. We'll be there in two days."

When the line disconnected, Sammy was staring up at her solemnly with Dean's eyes. With a sigh, she kissed the top of his head and lifted him out of the tub, wrapping him in a towel and handing him his favorite teddy bear.

"Daddy?" Sammy asked thickly.

"He'll be home soon, angel. Promise." She dried him off and lifted Owen out of the tub, wrapping him snugly in a towel, letting him dry himself off. She then scooped up Brody as Ally scopped up Levi, wrapping her baby in a towel and smiling at his unruly curl.

At a gentle tug on her dress, Paige looked down to see Owen looking up at her with Sammy right beside them. "When's he coming home?" Owen wondered, his eyes wide and pleading.

"Soon, Owen. I promise. Soon."

"Utle Sam?" Sammy asked.

"Yeah, baby," Paige sighed as she picked up Sammy in one arm and Brody in the other, kissing both of their cheeks and smiling when Sammy wrapped an arm around her neck and buried his face in the crook of her neck. "Uncle Sam, too."

"Come on, boys, let's go get our pajamas on," Ally said as she ushered Levi and Owen out the door. She paused to let Paige pass. "Sam and Dean are coming home, I take it?"

Paige nodded. "Two days," she said, clicking off the light.

Owen turned halfway to his room. "Can we watch Superman cartoons?" he asked excitedly.

"Sure, bud."

With a huge grin, the boys ran off to get changed into their pajamas. Paige got Brody into his cowboy pajamas and settled him into his crib with his blanket and sippy cup. "Night, baby boy," she whispered, clicking off the light.

"Mommy," Sammy whispered from the doorway. She turned to find him tangled in his shirt. Ushering him outside, she fixed it for him and picked him up, kissing his forehead.

"Better?"

Sammy nodded. "Miss daddy," he mumble, ducking his head and picking at a string on her shirt.

"Me too, buddy. Me too."

**

* * *

**

On the Road

Somewhere west of Missouri

Dean and Sam were both quiet.

"You didn't stay for the funeral." Sam glanced over at Dean, only to see him stare silently at the road.

"I said my goodbyes, Sam," Dean said finally, his voice raspy. "I wouldn't be welcome at her funeral, believe me. And I wouldn't feel comfortable there, either." He cleared his throat. "I hate funerals."

"Yeah, me, too," he replied, mind once again assaulted by memories of Jessica. "So the trail for dad– "

"Dad isn't going to be found until he wants to be, Sam," Dean cut him off.

"So home we go, then."

"Home we go," he agreed.

"I have to admit… I'm happy to be seeing Levi again," Sam admitted, a slight smile tugging his lips at the thought of the mop-headed almost-two-year-old.

"So, you've accepted being a father." It was a statement, not a question.

"I have," Sam replied, sighing and shrugging into the seat until he was comfortable. "There's nothing quite like holding him after a long and weary hunt."

"Well, I'm glad you have him, Sam."

"Me, too, Dean. Without him, my life would be really… empty. My only regret is that I wasn't there from the day he was born. I missed watching him grow up. Now, with the twins…I get to do that. I'm looking forward to being there through it all."

"It's amazing, Sam," Dean told him. "They look like little old men. They're red and wrinkly… but they're warm. And they're so tiny and fragile. It's humbling, to hold them and know that you had a part in creating something so beautiful."

Sam grinned at his brother's wistful tone. He supposed it would be amazing…but he'd have to wait and see for himself.

But first, they had to get home.

**

* * *

**

Thunder Creek, Wyoming

Paige stood quietly and left the living room. The kids, Noah, Michael, and Ally didn't even notice that she had left. She crept silently to the kitchen and removed the phone from the cradle, punching in the number from memory alone.

She waited for the phone to pick up on the third ring.

"I need you to do something for me," she said as soon as the line picked up.

"_I'm listening."_

* * *

E/N: To all my readers – drop me a review. It takes 10 seconds. I'm needing a bit of reassurance here, guys. Feedback is a key part to inspiration, which at the moment, I am sorely lacking…shoot for 5 and I'll post the next one in three days.

Plus, let me know if there is a situation you'd like to see, and I'll try and work it in... :D

**As always,  
REVIEWS = LOVE :D**


	27. Chapter 27

A/N: Hey, y'all. Just so you know, I lied. There's no way I'm going to finish this in 10 chapters… it will probably be more like 14 or 15. I'm not even at Scarecrow yet…So here's the next, as promised. Sorry for the cliffie… don't kill me!

Well, you hit five reviews easily by 7/26. It made me so warm and fuzzy inside to read them all! You guys rock! Here I am thinking you all died on me, and BAM!, eleven reviews! You totally made my day… so as always, this chapter is dedicated to all of you and your kind words. Heck, I'm so far on cloud nine right now, I'll even dedicate it to all you lazy people who don't review but love me enough to read it anyway! You guys are the bomb! :D

Disclaimer: As always, only own my OCs.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**  
All Roads Lead To Home…Eventually

**Thunder Creek, Wyoming  
**March 23, 2006

Paige cradled the phone to her ear and sat heavily in the chair, rubbing her face. "The demon that killed Owen and Brody's parents, did you find it?"

"_You say this like I lose demons all the time,"_ Connie replied, as if the words were poison on her tongue.

"I need you to find him for me," she broke in. "And when you do, to kill him. Can you do that?"

"_Any particular reason why?"_

"To give us and Owen peace of mind."

"_Fine, fine. Whatever. I'll find him and then kill him. Anything else?"_

"Find John Winchester."

"_What, do you want me to kill him, too?"_ Connie asked, sarcasm giving a bite to her words.

"Of course not," Paige scoffed, wishing Connie were there so she could slap her. "I just need to know where he is. There are a few choice words – and well-aimed punches – I intend to throw in his direction. I'm also worried about Levi. There's something he's not telling those boys, Connie, and so help me God, I will find out. I'm sick of his lies and his absence. It's about damn time he actually cared about his childen enough to stop by and see them every once and a while. You can do that, right?"

"_You know, your lack of confidence in my substantial abilities is a little insulting."_

Paige rolled her eyes. "Didn't mean for it to be, Con."

"_How do I contact you? I won't risk calling. Dean will be home in a few hours_." At Paige's silence, Connie sighed. "_Hello, I know everything. Don't be all freaked out and silent. Come on_."

She just accepted her friend's oddness. "E-mail me or call me on my cell phone."

"_Right, will do_. _When I find John – and I will find him – what do you want me to do? Hogtie him and bring him to you?_"

"Trail him for a while, I suppose."

"_Ooh, stalking people. My favorite." _Connie's tone was gleeful. _"Do I at least get to shoot him?"_

"No," Paige said in a firm voice.

"_Fine, be a party pooper…"_

"Thanks, Connie." Her friend grumbled incoherently before her end of the line went dead.

Paige hung up the phone and stuck it back on the cradle. She gasped when a strong push centered in her abdomen, causing her to sit back down. She placed a calming hand over her bulging stomach. "Whoa, baby," she whispered. "Not so hard. You'll give mama bruises." That prompted another kick. "Great, stubborn just like your father." She got to her feet and was about to go back in the living room when the phone rang.

Annoyed now, she scooped it off the cradle, prepared to give Connie a piece of her mind for calling back so soon. But when she answered, it was the last voice she'd expected to hear, at least for a few hours.

"Hello?"

"Hey. It's Sam."

Well, she hadn't expected to hear from her brother-in-law so soon.

"Paige?"

"I'm here, Sam," she said quickly to make up for her silence.

"We're going to stay the night in a hotel in Cheyenne," he explained. "We didn't get much sleep during the last hunt and neither of us particularly want to drive. Okay?"

"Okay, sure," Paige sighed, defeated. The boys were going to be upset. "How's he holding up?"

"Bye," Sam replied, hanging up the phone.

She stared down at it in shock, appalled by his rudeness. "That's it? 'Bye'?" she mimicked. "I'm going to kill him!" Angry now, she slammed the phone back on the cradle and stalked back into the living room to find Sammy passed out in Noah's lap. Her anger melted away. She just hoped they'd be back before sunrise so the kids wouldn't be disappointed. So that _she _wouldn't be disappointed.

"He fell asleep halfway through the first scene," Noah explained in a whisper, holding him up for Paige to grab.

Paige settled her young son against her shoulder, rubbing between his shoulders. "Thanks, Noah," she whispered back, noting that Levi was near to passing out and Owen was struggling to keep his eyes open.

"When do you and Michael head back to Colorado?" she asked as they headed upstairs, Noah with the half-asleep Owen in his arms.

"Tonight," Noah replied. "Today was our day off, that's why we stayed so long."

"Back to working at the BAU, then?"

"Yep, pretty much," Noah replied with a lazy grin. "Hunting serial killers, you know…the norm."

Paige snorted and headed into Sammy's nursery and lowering him into his crib. "Night, baby boy," she whispered, kissing his head and covering him in his blanket.

"You're so good at that," Noah observed from the doorway.

"At what?"

"Being a mom," he explained. "You really are."

"Well, Noah," she replied as she took Owen from him and went next door to his room. "You'll make a great dad someday. Now all you have to do is settle down and find yourself a woman."

Noah half-smiled and followed her into Owen's room. "But I have to stop being a manwhore, right?" he teased.

"You aren't a manwhore," she sighed as she eased Owen under the covers. "You just act like one. Be honest, here. You're a one-night stand type of guy, but you're also a one-woman type of guy. All you have to do is find that one woman. Am I right?"

"Who told you that?" Noah said, suddenly suspicious.

"Who do you think?" she said, pushing him out the door and clicking off the light before closing it behind her.

"Michael?"

"Who else?"

"Oh, I'm gonna kill him…" Noah trailed off darkly, scowling.

"No, you won't. You rely on him to keep that ass of yours out of trouble, remember?"

"Duly noted," he snorted, trying to grab her in a headlock that she skillfully evaded. He caught her the next time he tried, holding her securely but gently. "Will you be okay tonight?" His tone was dead serious.

Paige sighed. "I'll be fine, Noah," she said softly, relaxing and not fighting his grip. "Promise."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Why do I not believe you?" he said suspiciously, looking down at her.

"I…"

"Liar."

"You didn't even let me finish my sentence!" she protested, laughing.

"That's because I know you're going to try to feed me some bullshit line about being fine," Noah countered, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "I was captured once, too, you know. I still have nightmares about it. So be honest. Will you be okay tonight?"

"Not completely, no," Paige reluctantly admitted.

"Do you want me to stay?"

"I have to get up at five to feed the horses."

"So is that a 'no'?" he pressed.

"I…"

"If you want me to stay, say so. If not, I'll be heading back to Colorado."

"For Pete's sake, Noah, do you _want _to stay?" Paige said. She was exasperated at this point.

"Well, not that I don't enjoy sharing a bed with a beautiful woman…" he trailed off with a wink.

She smacked him, rolling her eyes. "Oh, for the love of…"

"Kidding, kidding," he cut her off, kissing the crown of her head. "Promise. But if you want me to stay, it's no trouble."

"I'm not a weakling, Noah. I'll be fine for a night."

"Will you now?" he said softly, his breath tickling her ear. "Now why do I still not believe you?"

"Noah," she said in a warning tone.

"Okay, okay," he sighed, releasing her but holding tight to her chin, forcing her to look up at him. She tried to pull her chin free but he wouldn't let her. "If something happens, I'm only a phone call away, okay?"

"Understood," Paige said, hugging him. "Thank you, Noah."

Noah's expression was smooth, but his eyes harbored a fierce worry. "Anytime, sweetheart," he said quietly. "But you listen to me for a minute, do you hear?"

Paige nodded mutely. She was suddenly nervous over his slightly angry attitude.

"You happen to be one of the few people in this world that I care fiercely for. When you are in pain, I'm in pain. So if I hear that you're having nightmares or screaming yourself awake tonight, I'm going to be a bit more than upset. Got it?"

"Got it," she repeated, eyebrows raised.

"Good." He hugged her, half-squeezing her to death with its fierceness.

"Choking, not breathing," she rasped, relieved when the crushing force on her ribs depleted. "See you next weekend?"

"Sure will, baby cakes," he replied, his tilted smirk back in place. "We'll be present for the party of a lifetime, that much I promise. It seems I'll be bringing along my entire team, too."

"Alright then," she said, laughing. "See you soon, then."

"Oh, believe me, you will."

And with a grin and a wink, he trotted down the stairs, shouting for Michael.

"Bye, coz!" Michael called up the stairs. "See you soon!"

"Bye, Michael," she called back, smiling.

Ally came upstairs with Levi in her arms. "Oh, so they finally left, did they?" she teased, rolling her eyes. "I swear, that boy will be the death of me."

"Which boy?" Paige grinned as she walked beside her friend to Levi's room.

She thought for a moment. "Both," she decided. "Definitely both."

"Well, well, Miss Baraldi, quite a love life you've got there…"

"Oh, shut up," Ally said, laughing. She threw her free arm around her best friend's shoulders. "After I put down this little guy, should we watch a movie?"

"Sure. What movie?"

"Something with sexy, shirtless men." Ally's tone was wistful.

"Horny much?"

"Shut up. And scratch the last. I want _tall_, sexy, shirtless men. What've you got that fits that parameter."

"How about _Gladiator_?" Paige suggested.

"Russell Crowe…not the tallest, but I can work with that."

Paige just grinned and rolled her eyes.

xxx

_(5 am the next morning)_

Paige came awake slowly, well-rested and stiff from sleeping in the same position too long. She was exhausted – she and Ally had stayed up until one in the morning watching Gladiator.

"Dean?" she murmured, her hand reaching out. Tears misted. She rolled over to find his side of the bed empty and smooth from his lack of presence. She was unbelievably disappointed – she thought Dean would have slept for a few hours before heading home. Shaking it off, she slumped back on the bed, hand absently rubbing her belly.

With a resigned sigh, she swung her legs out of bed and glanced at the clock – it was five forty-five in the morning. The perfect time to feed the horses. She pulled on her loose jeans and boots and tiptoed off down the stairs. She paused at the bottom when she saw the dogs were nowhere to be seen. They were probably already out in the fields with the guys.

Not quite awake, she shrugged it off and walked to the barn, stuffing her hands in her pockets to keep them warm. It was a chilly Wyoming morning, cold enough for her breath to be a fog in front of her. She made her way across the crunching dirt, guided by the soft lights on the stables. The sun was starting to turn the sky a little lighter, the silhouette of the Laramie mountain range rimmed in lighter blue-black than the rest of the sky. The stars, however, were still a brilliant tangle of sparkles in the sky above.

The barn doors slid open easily, and she stepped inside, welcoming the warmth. She clicked on the lights and nearly had a heart attack when she saw the person perched on an empty saddle rack.

"Allyson Nicole LaBarbera!" she growled, putting a hand over her heart. "You should warn someone so they don't have a heart attack."

"Sorry," Ally chirped in reply, staring across the aisle at Paige's handsome bay Dutch Warmblood stallion Colby. "He's gorgeous."

"Thanks," Paige muttered, smiling despite herself when her beloved horses stuck their heads over their stall doors and whickered at her. "Mommy, feed me," she teased, walking up to kiss Colby's soft nose. "'Morning, you."

Colby snorted softly, blowing warm air in her face. He arched his neck down and butted her gently with his head. He lipped at her pocket; she gave into his begging and handed over the carrot she'd grabbed specially for him.

"Why are you up so early?" Paige asked finally as she rubbed her stallion's head.

Ally looked at her, a small smirk twisting her lips. "I had a dream that aliens were invading the earth, and they had black eyes like demons. They fought like Gladiator's, too, and one sounded especially like Russell Crowe." She huffed and crossed her arms. "They were eating our brains like the Brain Bug in _Starship Troopers_. Weirded me out; I was freaked by the time I finally woke up. I couldn't go back to sleep. And that, dearest friend, is why I am up at _five_ in the morning."

Paige couldn't help it. She threw her head back and laughed. "Technically…it's pretty much six. But that's okay."

"Why are _you _up so early?" Ally inquired.

"I get up this early most mornings," Paige admitted. "Every once and a while I help Ty and Chuck with the horses…I guess I just like to groom them. It's really soothing." She grabbed Colby's grooming bucket and eased into Colby's stall as she spoke, reaching up to smooth his forelock. "When was the last time you were around horses, anyway?"

"When we were kids, I guess. Haven't ridden in a really long time."

"I can change that," she promised as she grabbed a brush out of the grooming bucket. She began to methodically draw the brush down her horse's neck, smiling when he huffed and stretched his neck out when she hit his itchy spot.

"How so?" Ally asked in a bored tone, resting her cheek in her palm.

"Have you met Caspian?" Paige asked, pausing in her brushing to grin at her best friend. At the sound of his name, Caspian moved forward from the darkness of his stall, seeming to materialize out of thin air as his form separated from the black backdrop. His black head peeked over his stall door in hopes of a treat. The only thing was that Ally was sitting in front of his stall door so that the horse's head was above hers. Curious, Caspian lowered his head to Ally's, ears pricked forward. When Ally didn't turn around, the horse dipped his head and pushed her in the back with his nose.

Hard enough to send her sprawling to the ground with a startled squeal. Caspian snorted in alarm at the noise, his head shooting up in alarm before lowering again, his ears pricked forward, more in concern this time. He snorted again when she sat up and blew in her hair, seeming to be satisfied that she wasn't hurt.

"Damn horse," Ally cursed, getting to her feet and brushing herself off. She pointed a scowl in Paige's direction. "You knew he was going to do that, didn't you?"

"I did," Paige confessed. "He always does. He wants a carrot." She took one out of her pocket and broke it in half, giving half to Colby and holding the other half out for Ally to give to Caspian. The tall black gelding already had his neck stretched forward as far as it would go, ears forward and nostrils flaring, eyes glued on the treat.

Ally looked down at the carrot, then up at the horse. "What kind is he?" she asked, taking note of his intelligent long-muzzled head, his elegantly curved neck and the well-sloped shoulders. He was huge – probably about seventeen hands, she'd guess (a "hand" on horses is four inches and is measured to the withers, the point between the neck and shoulders, making this particular horse about sixty-eight inches or five and a half feet tall at the withers).

"Thoroughbred," her friend replied, leaning over the stall door. "He's from my dad's lines. Caspian is the son of my dad's favorite Stallion, Apollo." She shrugged when Ally looked confused. "My dad's six foot six, Al, so most Quarter Horses are way too small for him. About twenty years ago he and my grandpa, along with my grandpa Knox, started breeding Appendix Horses, a cross between the Thoroughbred and the Quarter Horse. While they don't always retain their cow sense, they are smart horses, and they also have better endurance. That's where I got Sergeant, who is also a son of Apollo."

"How old is he?" Ally asked, offering the horse the carrot. She remembered to keep her palm flat so he wouldn't accidentally nip her fingers. When Caspian accepted the treat and munched happily she smiled.

"Thirteen. He's a sweet horse, Al. Why don't you groom him? Rediscover your love for horses."

"Alright," Ally agreed, happily going about just that. "Why doesn't he have a light in the stall?"

"He doesn't like having his light on first thing in the morning. It makes him ornery. There should be a switch on the wall." She nodded when Ally found it, flooding Caspian's stall with light same as the rest of them. "His grooming supplies are in the box you were just sitting beside," she explained, pointing to the open-topped box beside the saddle rack. "Fold up his blanket and put it in there, too, would you? His halter is on the rack beside you, as is his lead rope and his bridle."

Ally grabbed the dark blue halter, running her thumbs over the distantly familiar surface. Her thumb paused at the golden nameplate on either side of where Caspian's cheeks would be. "So fancy," she observed, unlatching the stall and trying to open it. She tried to pull it for a moment before realizing that it slid open. "Huh." She entered the stall and patted Caspian on the neck, relieved when he lowered his head so she could put the halter on him.

"Just undo the clips that hold the straps, Ally," Paige instructed as she returned to grooming her stallion. "He'll stand nice and still. He loves being brushed."

For almost a half an hour the two friends worked in silence. Ally found all the long-forgotten horse knowledge rising back to the surface, sort of like riding a bike. "Can I ride?" she asked after a while.

"When you're pregnant? Wouldn't recommend it. After the babies are born, though, you can ride anytime you like. Do you prefer English or Western?"

"English, I think." Ally couldn't really remember. Western had the saddle horns… barrel racing, cutting, reigning, stuff like that, whereas English had no saddle horn and did things like jumping and dressage and cross country. Two very different riding styles.

"Well, I've got five horses here that will do English," Paige confessed with a cheeky grin. "I'm the rebel cowgirl. Don't get me wrong, I like Western and all, but I prefer English. Colby and Caspian both do English. I've also got another Warmblood named Cloud, a Holsteiner named Rocket, and a Hanoverian yearling I haven't named yet. The rest are Western. When I work with the cows I ride Cisco, my Quarter Horse gelding."

"So basically, I can ride whoever I want?" Ally guessed, having worked to Caspian's hindquarters with the soft brush.

"No, you couldn't, actually," she corrected. "I wouldn't recommend riding any of mine except for Caspian. They're pretty high-strung, and you've been out of the saddle for a long time. And never ride Sergeant. He'll probably kill you. He'd kill anyone, really, unless it's Dean." She shrugged. "He's just cranky like that, I guess. Don't worry, Al. We'll get you your own horse. You can probably have that Hanoverian yearling, if you want him."

"Can I see him?" Ally was a little excited at the concept. She hadn't had a horse since she was twelve.

"Well, I don't have him here with me. He's over at Jared's being trained right now."

"Oh," Ally sighed, deflated. "What color is he?"

"He's bay. He's got a white star on his forehead and he's sweet as pie. I was thinking of gelding him later on, but I'm waiting to see how well he turns out. My dad might want to breed him into his lines, but I'm not sure."

"Well, that would be awesome. Thanks."

Paige shrugged with a smile. "He'd get more attention from you," she admitted. "It's hard to keep horses and have kids. I barely have time to balance them all out."

"Are you going to teach Owen how to ride?"

"Of course… I was actually thinking of getting him a pony for his birthday. Jared's got a smaller Quarter Horse gelding he's looking to sell. His name is Batman. He was named by Theo's kids. He's nine, and he's super calm. I'm thinking he'd be the perfect first horse for him."

"Owen would be totally psyched," Ally said as she clipped a lead rope onto Caspian's halter. "Would you mind re-teaching me how to lunge a horse?"

"Not at all," Paige said with a smile, closing and latching Colby's stall behind her and awarding him one final pat. "But after he eats breakfast. Maybe we can take Owen out with us."

"That would be fun," Ally agreed as she removed Caspian's halter and kissed his broad cheekbone. She joined Paige in the isle just as the doors slid open again and Ty entered, rubbing his hands together and stomping his feet.

"Mornin'," Ty greeted them with a grin. "It's getting warmer."

"Yep," Paige agreed. "Can you handle feeding them?"

"Yeah, no problem," Ty said, flapping his hands. "Those boys of yours will be up soon. I just came back to feed these guys before heading out. We met Jared at five. He's already out trailing cows with Elliot and Chuck."

"Okay, well, we'll get out of your way. Thanks, Ty."

The ranch hand shrugged. "You're paying, so I don't complain," he teased. "I take it Cas and Colby are already groomed?" When they nodded he smiled. "Thanks. Makes my life easier." He tweaked Paige's nose. "I took Cisco out this morning. Hope you don't mind. He was itching to get a little action, and Taurus needed a vacation day. He was beyond cranky this morning."

"What's mine is yours," Paige said easily, tweaking his nose in return. "Take out any horse you like, except– "

"Sergeant," he finished for her, rolling his eyes. "I know."

"See you later, Ty."

"Uh-huh."

Paige led Ally out of the barn and back into the chilly morning.

"Whoa – no snow. Just noticed that!" Ally said, looking up at the sky. She'd grown so accustomed to seeing white everywhere that seeing brown again was a little weird.

"Yeah. We'll have some warmer days dotted here and there, but I'd guess we've got a couple good blizzards left before Spring and Summer start," Paige said, looking up at the sky as well. "Maybe we'll have some nice weather, though. That'd be nice. I really miss the sun, and our winters here are _long_. As soon as the growing season starts again, I'll have to hire more hands to get the crops in the ground." Paige sighed. "Sorry, I forget sometimes that you usually have no clue what I'm talking about."

Ally shrugged. "It's okay. I like listening to you talk about how you and Dean run this place." She cleared her throat. "Speaking of Dean…and Sam…when will they be home?"

"Sam didn't say."

"Of course he didn't…"

**

* * *

**

Cheyenne, Wyoming

Hampton Inn  
March 23, 2006 – 5:55 AM

Dean was ready to kill his little brother. Not figuratively kill him, but literally – as in beat him to a bloody pulp, gut him with a knife, shoot him point-blank with a shotgun kill him.

"Sam, I'm not going to say this again," he growled, pointing a finger in his surly little brother's face. "I want to leave. Right now. And if you don't want to come, then fine. I'll leave your ass and send Jared to get you later."

"We _need _to go back to Missouri, Dean," Sam retorted, bitchface firmly in place.

"What I _need _right now is my family and my friends, Sam."

"You _need _to go to Cassie's funeral!"

"Do not presume to know what I need, Sam!" Dean exploded, hands balling into fists. "I already told you I said my goodbye in the morgue. I don't want to go to her funeral, I don't want to watch them put her in the ground, I don't want to ever go back to that damn town ever again! I _hate _funerals! How many times do I have to say it?"

"You're a coward, Dean!" Sam shouted back. "You're blaming yourself for her death, and now you won't even do her the respect of going to her damn funeral!"

"I DON'T WANT TO GO TO ANYONE'S GODDAMN FUNERAL!" Dean bellowed, restraining himself from punching his brother in the face. "Talking to you is like talking to a goddamn brick wall! I want to go home. No matter what you say, I am not going back to Missouri. And that's _final_."

"I'm not some two-year-old you can boss around, Dean. So don't try," Sam snarled back.

"Then maybe you shouldn't act like one." Dean took a deep breath, counting to ten in his head and willing his rage to subside. "We're going home. So pack your stuff."

He turned to leave.

"Coward."

Dean froze at Sam's accusation. He turned to face him, gritting his teeth. "I buried mom. I buried Chris. I've been to enough funerals and through enough pain. I _hate _funerals. I'm counting to one hundred as soon as I get outside. If you want to come, then fine. If not, I'll send Jared back for you."

He shouldered his duffel bag and stalked out the door, slamming it behind him. When he was in the Impala, he started counting. By ninety-five, Sam still hadn't come out, so he started the engine. By one hundred, the door didn't even open. With a weary sigh, he pulled out onto the highway and towards home.

In an hour, he'd have Paige in his arms again.

* * *

Ally had decided to do breakfast this morning. She was making pancakes and eggs, and Owen's favorite, toast with jam. She was whistling some cheery tune while she flipped the pancakes. Through the window she could see Ty leading a buckskin, tacked-up buckskin Quarter Horse in one hand and a blanketed Caspian in the other.

He put Caspian in the paddock closest to the house and then led Cisco back toward the fence line. He mounted the buckskin and tipped his hat before cantering off through the fields.

She jerked back to reality and scrambled the eggs before they burned. There was a ruckus upstairs, and she sighed, knowing the circus was about to begin. Not three seconds later, Paige appeared in the doorway with Brody on her shoulder, the baby wide-eyed with his binkie in his mouth.

"Walk, boys, walk," she was yelling as Owen was clinging to her leg and shouting for pancakes, Levi was running in circles around her and making airplane noises, arms out at his sides, and Sammy was barking like a dog and had his blanket stuck in the back of his pants, acting as a tail. Paige was attempting to walk, stay balanced, keep Brody from falling, and get the kids to the kitchen all at the same time.

"You ready yet?" she called to Ally.

"Not even close," Ally called back.

"Oh, for Pete's sake… okay, boys, movie time! Let's go watch a movie, come on!"

"MOVIE!" the boys screamed in unison, charging into the family room.

"Lion King!" Owen cheered.

"Bugs Life!" Levi shouted.

"Toy Story!" Sammy argued, his voice by far the loudest.

Ally just laughed and continued cooking, leaving her best friend to dealing with the kids. At the end of fifteen minutes breakfast was covered on the table and she was pouring glasses of milk.

Paige appeared with Brody still on her shoulder, looking unhappy and with his eyes red. "Good God," she complained, dropping to the nearest barstool, making faces at Brody. "No tears, baby boy." She held him up, allowing him to bounce up and down, his binkie still in his mouth. She nuzzled his cheek, smiling when he giggled and smiled around his binkie.

"What happened?"

"They got into a fistfight over what movie to watch," she explained, rolling her eyes. "So I put in Cinderella."

Ally sniggered. "You're so evil," she teased.

"Dang straight," Paige agreed. "Should we bring them in– "

"Impala," Ally said suddenly, pointing out the window. Paige spun, Brody still on her shoulder. Sure enough, the Impala was coming down the drive.

"Only a driver," she whispered. And it was Dean. She'd know that form if she was blind. "Where's Sam?" she asked, straining to see him at the end of the drive. "Dean's home!" she called for the kids' benefit.

Sammy and Owen came streaking into the kitchen, eyes wide with excited grins plastered on their faces as the Impala parked in front of the house and Dean got out. He looked tired, Paige noted. His shoulders were drooped from exhaustion and his expression was haggard. She pushed open the door, almost stumbling when her sons burst out and ran down the stairs at a million miles an hour.

"Take him, would you?" she murmured, handing Brody over to Ally, who accepted him and followed her onto the porch.

"DADDY!" Owen and Sammy cried in unison.

Dean's head snapped up at the second voice, happiness enveloping him when he recognized a tousled-haired Owen sprinting for him beside Sammy. He plastered on a happy smile and crouched down to receive his sons, grunting slightly when they slammed into his chest. Their arms constricted around his neck.

"Hey, boys," he greeted his sons, squeezing them tight and kissing them both on the cheek. "Where's your brother?"

"Inside with mommy," Owen told him, pulling on his ears. "Where's Uncle Sam?"

"He…had to stay behind. He'll be home later."

"Oh. Okay." Owen grinned and rested his head on his shoulder. "Breakfast is inside."

"Breakfast?" Dean said, aware of his rumbling stomach. "Yum." He lowered Owen down and rubbed noses with Sammy. "Hey, baby boy."

"Daddy," Sammy crooned, kissing his cheek.

He put Sammy back on the ground as Paige walked up with Ally right behind her, Brody resting on her hip. "Hey," he said, pulling her right into his arms and holding on tight.

Paige hugged him back, sighing as his strong arms constricted around her. She rested her cheek on his shoulder, her nose nestled against his neck. She sensed this was one of those Dean-needs-a-hug moments. She didn't protest when he pulled back and looked down at her.

"It's been a hell of a long week," Dean confessed, his voice husky.

"Same here. Are you okay?"

"Can I get back to you on that?" he asked softly, pulling her as close as he could. "The baby?"

"Fine. We're all fine."

"Well, that's a relief," he replied, before bending down and kissing her, finally unlocking all his pent-up emotion. Immediately he felt like he was on fire, and it felt so perfect, so right, that he for a second considered dragging her up to the bedroom right then. Ally's cheeks eventually turned pink and she averted her eyes skyward. She cleared her throat awkwardly. He felt a little nudge against his chest, and pulled away with a rich chuckle, pressing a hand against his wife's belly, eyes coming alive with delight as their son kicked against his palm.

"He's happy to hear you," Paige teased breathlessly, grinning up at him. "I'm glad you came home, Dean."

"Me, too." He kissed her again, softly this time, framing her face with his hands.

"Sam?" Ally inquired a little harsher than she'd intended. "Where is he?"

"I'll ask Jared to pick him up later," Dean said by way of explanation. "We fought. He wanted to go back to Missouri. I said no. So he refused to get in the car." He shrugged. "I belong here, with my family, Ally. Maybe this will give him some time to chill out and get over this little revenge expedition he's on."

"Doubtful," Paige muttered as Dean pulled her into his side to kiss her temple.

"Did I hear something about breakfast?" he inquired tiredly, resting his forehead against her temple, closing his eyes and forcing himself to relax.

"You did indeed," she replied, resting her arm around his waist. "Come on, boys, let's go inside and eat."

Owen and Sammy ran ahead, meeting up with Levi, who was standing on the porch in tears because Sam wasn't there.

Dean silently lifted Brody out of Ally's arms and smiled at him, happy when Brody started to babble around his binkie, his little hands tugging at Dean's ears.

Ally sighed heavily as she mounted the steps, aware of her family behind her. Owen and Sammy barely spared him a glance as they charged into the kitchen. She looked down at him, her heart breaking in half again.

Sam hadn't come home, and now, her baby boy was standing on the porch in his Buzz Lightyear pajamas, tears streaking down his face as he cried. As she neared he stuck his arms up, and she couldn't bear to refuse him. As soon as his warm weight was settled protectively in her arms, she hugged him tight and allowed him to bawl into her shoulder.

"Daddy," Levi sobbed, clutching at his mother. "Wan daddy."

"I know, sweetheart, I know," she whispered, hand smoothing over his hair. She headed inside and bypassed the kitchen in favor of the living room, where she'd have some privacy to soothe her upset twenty-one month old.

Levi eventually quieted, his eyes – Sam's eyes – red rimmed and slightly puffy. She grabbed a tissue to wipe his runny nose and smiled down at him, brushing her fingers through his unruly hair. When he finally quieted and rested against her chest, his cheek pillowed on her shoulder, she rubbed his back and rested her cheek on the top of his head.

"Do you want breakfast, Levi?" she whispered, kissing the top of his head.

He nodded silently. When she stood, he refused to let go or walk on his own, so she carried him into the kitchen and wordlessly took her seat at the end of the table, settling Levi in her lap instead of in his high chair.

Dean and Paige were sitting practically in each others' laps as Dean recounted the entire hunt, his expression grave. Owen and Sammy were happily smearing syrup all over their plates as they attempted – and failed – to successfully cut their pancakes. Brody was pounding his hands against his high chair and babbling loudly, occasionally pausing to munch on the cheerios spread over the tray, and he occasionally bored with this in favor of throwing cheerios at people instead.

Levi was calm enough now for her to put him in his high chair. He sat their silently, hands folded in his lap and eyes downcast. He sniffed every once and a while, and wiped his face more than once.

"Pancakes, Lee?" she said, reaching over the tray to poke him gently in the belly, getting an impromptu giggle in the process. Her son finally looked at her, the light back in his eyes. He nodded enthusiastically.

"Milk," he said sternly, holding out his empty sippy cup. She obliged him and handed the now-filled cup back. As soon as he was munching happily on his breakfast, she focused her attention back on her brother-in-law.

"Her funeral is today," Dean was saying, rubbing his face tiredly. He cradled his head in his hands, not looking at any of them. "Sam said I should go back. I just couldn't, Paige. I couldn't."

"It's okay, Dean," Paige said softly, her chin on his shoulder. She rested her hand absently on his back, hoping to provide comfort. "You couldn't have known. It's not your fault."

"I should have stayed with her." Dean's voice was thick, and echoed with self-disgust. "It's always the same with me, isn't it?" He lifted his red-rimmed eyes to look at his wife, his eyes hollow. "Everyone around me just…dies."

"You told her to stay inside, Dean," she said fiercely. "She didn't listen. That's her own fault. You told her to stay inside. She chose not to listen. She _knew _that truck would be after her, and did it anyway. That is _not your fault_. Do you hear me? Not your fault!"

Dean just sighed and dropped his head back to his hands. "Can we talk more in depth about this later?" he asked, his voice muffled by his hands.

"Sure." Paige glanced at Ally, their worried expressions mirrors of each other. "You should eat something."

He lifted his head and offered a weak smile before silently taking a bite of pancake. "I shouldn't have left him there," he said softly, rubbing his forehead. "He just…he's so darn stubborn. He wouldn't listen. I wanted to come home, and I was so frustrated that I just… I couldn't…"

"Ally, can you watch the kids for a while?" Paige said suddenly, looking down the table at her. Her eyes pleaded with her best friend, knowing that it was a little unfair, but she knew for a fact that her husband needed some serious talking to, needed a chance to unwind from the stress of the hunt – and he needed to do that now, while he was willing, before he bottled it up inside and she had to Heimlich it out of him six weeks from now.

She was immensely relieved when Ally nodded mutely and tilted her head at the door, giving her permission to do what they both knew was necessary.

"Come on, Dean," Paige said gently, standing and waiting for him to do the same. "Let's go for a walk."

"Now?"

Paige nodded. "Now." She grabbed his hand and squeezed it tight, pulling him out the door and into the cool morning. His fingers were callused and warm, familiar, but those strong fingers didn't squeeze back. His hand was limp in her grasp.

Dean walked along silently beside her, his eyes distant, as if locked on some faraway horror she couldn't even begin to fathom.

"Hey," she said, shaking his arm. "You in there?"

He looked down at her, seeming to be lost for a minute. "Yeah," he said after a long pause, almost as if he'd had to search for the right word in the vast depth of his mind. "I'm here."

"You sure about that?"

Dean smiled weakly and looked down at the dirt crunching underneath his boots. "Mostly," he sighed. "I'm just…thinking."

"About what?"

They walked in silence for a while, heading in a loop towards the stable. Eventually, his hand ceased being limp and gripped hers so suddenly and with such strength she would have jumped out of her skin if she hadn't fought back the reflex. She just gripped it back and paced along silently, waiting for him to say what was on his mind.

"All this talk about funerals…it just…it makes me think of my mom, I guess." He sighed heavily and gently tugged her closer so that he could pull her into his side. "And of…Chris." His voice was shaky, and in response, Paige wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him tight, her face buried in his chest. It took him a moment before he did the same, holding onto her for dear life.

"I'm so sorry, Dean," she mumbled, voice muffled in his shirt. Her forehead was resting on the amulet that he wore around his neck constantly, without fail, every single day.

Dean pressed his lips to her ear, smiling despite himself when she shivered in his arms. "You've got nothing to be sorry about, love," he said huskily. "What happened to Chris…to my mom… it wasn't anyone's fault, really, except for demons. Out of our control. There was nothing we could have done to stop it, that I could have don't to stop it."

"But you still feel responsible," she sighed, closing her eyes and soaking up his warmth. It was far from warm outside, but he radiated heat like a furnace.

He kissed her forehead and chuckled softly.

"What?" she asked, smiling with relief at the sound of that rich chuckle. She opened her eyes to find him smiling warmly down at her.

"You know me almost better than I know myself," he told her. "Honestly, I have to say I love that about you." His smile faded as he became completely serious. "You're the only person I tell things too."

"Well, everyone has to open up to someone sometime, Dean."

"Hmm," he agreed, tucking her head under his chin again. "Promise me something."

"What?"

"You promised me forever."

"I did," she confirmed, closing her eyes again and listening to the rumble of his voice in his chest. He was quiet for a minute, allowing her to hear her favorite sound in the entire world – his heartbeat. It was slow and steady. She realized why she loved it so much; partly because it was the proof that he was alive in her arms, but also because it provided comfort. The closeness, the intimacy, was the backdrop of her love for him.

"Do you promise to keep that promise?"

"What's this really about, Dean?"

"I don't want to ever lose you," he admitted, a bit reluctantly. Usually he would never say this out loud to people, but… Paige wasn't most people. She was his wife, his best friend, his confidant. "I saw what it did to Sam. If that happened to me…I wouldn't survive. Since I married you, I understand the drive my dad had toward revenge. If I lost you, I'd fall apart, too."

"You aren't going to lose me, Dean," she promised, looking up at him. "And you can thank Chris for that."

"Of all the things about that I respect about him…that's what I respect the most." He looked down at her and half-smiled. "If he hadn't done that for you, we wouldn't be standing here right now. For him to love you that much…I understand that love."

"You and Sam." It was a statement, not a question.

"That's a love I understand perfectly. A different kind," Dean sighed. "I love Sam to the bottom of my soul. He's my baby brother. I'd die for him." He chuckled softly. "But I wouldn't spill my heart to him. You, on the other hand…I do so willingly."

"That's the point of marriage, after all."

Dean squeezed her gently. "There's that sarcasm, Mrs. Winchester," he teased, attempting to lighten the mood. It didn't really work. They both fell back into silence. They were right in front of the barn. "Do you mind if I say hi to Sarge?"

Paige simply untangled herself from his arms, grabbed his hand, and followed him into the barn. "Do you feel better now?" she asked.

He laughed outright at that. "How did you know that's exactly what I needed?" he asked rhetorically. His wife just grinned and dragged him into the much-warmer barn. "You know, our horses are spoiled rotten. They get flipping heating _and _air conditioning."

"Well, we're rich," she said nonchalantly. "What did you expect? Me to throw them out in the snow? Never!"

Dean just shook his head. "Hey, Sergeant!" he called. He grinned and quickened his pace at the sound of his stallion's excited whicker. Sarge's stall was halfway down the isle, and at the sound of Dean's voice, his head shot over the door, his ears pricked forward. He whinnied excitedly, starting to kick his door, tossing his head and snorting as he tried to go towards his beloved owner.

"Whoa, whoa, easy," he soothed, jogging the last two steps, reaching a hand up to touch his stallion's forehead. "Heya, buddy. How have you been, huh?"

Sergeant snorted happily and rubbed his head up and down Dean's chest. He just scratched the horse's dark neck and rubbed his ears, making sure to smooth his forelock. "Missed me, huh?" he teased.

"He always does," Paige replied, reaching up to pat his neck. Sergeant gently nuzzled her cheek, lipping softly at her nose. "He apparently decided he was going to love me, too."

"Probably because I love you," Dean said with a grin, nudging her with his elbow. His eyes lit up suddenly. "Want to go for a ride?"

"When, now?" she repeated, slightly startled.

"Yeah," he insisted, quickly unclipping Sergeant's blanket and throwing it over the door. He reached for the halter. "We can go bareback. Don't worry, I won't let you fall."

"Well, at least use a bareback pad, then," she sighed, smiling while she watched him grumble but grab the bareback pad and buckle it around his horse anyway.

He grabbed her hand and headed out of the stall, holding Sergeant's lead rope in the other. He led the way to the closer of the two fields and used the fence as a mounting block, reaching down to pull her up in front of him.

Paige was sitting in front of him, partly in his lap, but his arm was around her waist in a secure hold. He clicked his tongue, and Sergeant settled into a smooth and even trot through the field, happy to be outside and exercising. She eventually relaxed back against Dean's chest and just enjoyed the ride.

"So I was thinking," he said after a few minutes of content silence. "First of all, I need to find Jared and ask him to pick up Sam."

"Secondly?" she asked as Sergeant started to head up the hill, shaking his mane and whickering good-naturedly.

"Don't you think we should talk about what we're going to name the baby?"

Paige smiled and rested her head on his arm. "What would you like to name him?"

"I was thinking about what you said in the hospital…Jace, right?"

"Yep." She smiled warmly.

"I'm sensing that has meaning behind it. So I was wondering if you'd do me the honor of explaining."

"The J stands for John and Jared, after your dad, my grandpa, and my cousin," she said. "The A for Allyson. The C is for Christopher, and the E stands for Elliot." When he didn't say anything, she looked up at him. "All of them have had a part in this baby's life. I figured it was only fitting to name our son in their honor."

"I like it," Dean confessed as soon as he could talk around the lump in his throat. "It's perfect."

"Really?"

"Really," he promised, kissing her. "Jace it is."

"I'm glad."

"Me, too."

They settled back into comfortable silence as Sergeant came to a halt at the top of the hill. About a quarter of a mile away, they could clearly see the head being trailed by Elliot, Ty, Chuck, and Jared.

"There they are," she said, pointing out the obvious. The cowboys had spotted them and waved the hand signal for emergency. Dean waved back, signifying that it was not, and heeled Sergeant to the trot down the hill.

A sudden popping noise made Sergeant jump to the right and squeal in alarm, half-rearing and spinning to kick at what had startled him. Dean quickly got him under control – no small feat considering he had his wife in his lap, no bridle, and no saddle to assure he'd stay on the stallion's back – and turned him in tight circles, eyes searching for the disturbance.

"Your lovey-dovey stuff was making me sick to my stomach," Connie said dryly, absently twirling a knife.

"You," Dean snarled, baring his teeth at her.

"Me," she replied with a cocky smirk. She looked up at Paige, her expression suddenly grave. "I killed him."

"Killed who?" Dean demanded.

"The demon who killed Owen and Brody's parents," Paige explained for her husband's benefit, one hand on his chest to keep him from lunging at Connie and attempting to snap her neck.

Connie said nothing else, only raised a hand and snapped her fingers. There was another popping noise, and Sam fell out of thin air, slamming face-first into the dirt with a startled yell and then choking cough as he inhaled the dirt he'd face-planted in. He rolled over just as Connie snapped again, and Sam's equipment and luggage slammed into his head, making him cuss loudly in protest and kick out in her direction, rubbing his head where his sawed-off had slammed his eyebrow. He glowered up at her, annoyed when she didn't even glance in his direction.

Dean just blinked in shock at Sam's sudden appearance. Paige ignored the sudden re-appearance of her brother-in-law and raised her eyebrows in question of the second task she'd asked of her friend.

Connie's smile became slanted, her eyes sparking with a feral light.

"I found him."

* * *

E/N: Well, there it is. Got it out a few hours later than planned… unfortunately, I had an unexpected Trojan virus decide to attack my computer. One eight-hour full-computer malicious software scan later, and I'm successfully virus free. Woot! Anyway, here it is like I promised, 3 days after I got my 13 reviews. Again, you're awesome. Do it again, and I'll have chapters done ASAP! Maybe I'll even type 5 while I'm on vacation! Yaaaaaaaaaaah! So review, peeps!

I'm going on vacation for a week…I'll have lots of driving time, though, so hopefully I'll be able to get a few chapters done while I'm away. Just warning that I won't have any postings for a week and a half or so. Hope you guys have a great weekend!  
3 Sassy

Oh and amy, I hoped you liked the Dean & Paige scenes… I had tons of fun writing them! Tried to make 'em cute just for you, and I hope I didn't dissapoint! :D

**REVIEWS = LOVE**  
**You guys make my day every time you do.. :D**


	28. Chapter 28

A/N: Okay, so, the last was a bit of a filler. This one had some action…and some cutsie moments… and as usual, some drama. You better read this yourself. Bye!

Disclaimer: Only own my OCs. This is Kripke's sandbox. I'm just building myself a nice fortified sandcastle. :P

**WARNING**: Some bad language in here, folks... sorry, but angry ppl tend to cuss... :)

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Eight  
**Oh The Cranky Lot

**Thunder Creek, WY  
**March 28, 2006

Sam pushed himself off the ground and glared at Connie. "Hey," he mumbled to his older brother and sister-in-law, not quite willing to forgive him for leaving him in Cheyenne. "Was that necessary, demon?"

"That's half-demon to you, pup," Connie snarled, her defensive nature in full swing.

"Who did you find?" Dean cut in, his voice hard. "Who did you _kill_?"

"Relax, pretty boy, I only killed the demon," she snapped, looking to Paige for help and finding her busy restraining her "better half" from launching himself off the stallion and at her. Well, at least that was helpful.

"How do you _only _kill a demon?"

"Oh, I dunno, exercise it with my awesome mind powers?" Connie snapped, sarcasm thick in her words. "Jesus. You two act like I'm the devil or something."

"You're a DEMON!" Sam roared, shoving at her. He was slightly surprised when something grabbed his arm and threw him to the side. He looked up to see Sergeant dancing in a tight circle, ears flat against his skull, his glittering eyes fixed on him. Great. Now the _stallion _was out to get him. Just perfect. "Can you CONTROL that damn thing?"

"This damn thing is my horse, Sam, and his name is _Sergeant_," Dean growled. "He's a friend and a work partner. He's not meant to be a pet that I can control. Jesus." He continued spinning Sergeant in circles, knowing that the beast wouldn't disobey; his loyalty was too strong. "And at least he's loyal. He'd never betray me. And he _listens_, if not through my words, then through my body language."

"And as I said, I'm only _half _demon!"

"You're a goddamn DEMON!" Sam bellowed, going for Connie again. He grunted when something slammed into his chest – Dean's boot, though not of his own fault, because Sergeant had been trying to kick him and Dean had spun him the other way at the last minute.

"You ALREADY said that! And I'm only HALF!" Connie screamed, slamming Sam's cheek with her closed fist, rocking his head back. "So back the fuck off, demon boy! At least _I _don't have visions like some freak!"

"How do you know about that?"

Connie pointed at herself. "Half-demon!" she shouted. "You are so friggin'_ dense _it's not even funny!" She threw her arms up. "All you Winchesters! Well, you know what? I wash my hands of this madness." She turned her back on them and stalked off towards the ranch house.

"Get back here!" Sam bellowed, chasing after her.

Dean cursed under his breath. "Hello, drama," he sighed, kicking Sergeant to a canter and holding tight to Paige, who had been strangely silent through the entire exchange, most of her attention diverted to keeping him from killing Connie. He cut his idiot of a brother off before he could punch Connie again and probably end up getting himself killed. Though, he experienced slight satisfaction when the impact from Sergeant's powerfully muscular shoulder knocked Sam flat on his ass.

"Hey!" he bellowed to get their attention.

"Both of you calm down," Paige ordered, trusting Dean would behave himself so it was safe to divert her attention elsewhere. "Sam! Quit trying to punch her! Come on!"

Connie and Sam vaulted over the wooden fence, continuing to shout at each other in Dean and Paige's front yard. They shoved and yelled and blocked each other's punches.

Dean finally got the gate open and heeled Sergeant through, closing it before urging his horse towards the shouting pair. He dismounted as soon as he was close and tackled Sam like a linebacker. The impact made him grunt, but he rolled off his brother and came face-to-face with Connie.

"Chill out," he ordered calmly, glaring down at her. It was a relief when Connie growled but stepped back and crossed her arms. "Let's talk about this like mature, respectable adults. Sammy!"

"What?" Sam grumbled, crossing his arms and scowling, looking away from the group.

"Apologize for attacking her."

"I'm not a two year old, Dean! Quit ordering me around, I'm _sick _of it!"

Dean forced himself to stay calm. "Sam, you are_ acting_ like a two-year-old. Maybe if you weren't, we wouldn't have a problem!"

Sam huffed but didn't reply, glaring daggers at Dean now.

Paige nudged Sergeant forward so that he stood beside Dean, which wasn't a problem because that's where the stallion wanted to stand, anyway. "Samuel Winchester," she said in a commanding tone. "Knock off the bullshit this instant, go inside and kiss your wife, and give your son a hug. He was destroyed when you didn't come home with Dean and cried for almost a half an hour." She glared at him before she looked at Connie and her expression softened. "Constance – thank you for bringing Sam home, and Dean can you _please _take your horse before he decides he doesn't like me anymore?"

Dean reached up to grab Sergeant's halter, rolling his eyes. "He's not going to buck you off with me standing right here," he assured her. "He may be an ass but he's not _stupid_." He looked back at Connie, gritting his teeth. "Thank you, for bringing him home…and for killing that demon."

Connie smiled, the first real smile she'd issued in their presence. It made her blue eyes sparkle with warmth as her expression softened to human. "How'd those words taste comin' outta your mouth, Winchester?" she wondered, a smirk tilting her lips now.

"Like acid," he admitted, a chuckle escaping. Well, he'd decided, maybe Connie wasn't _completely _evil after all. Still though…didn't like her. But he'd tolerate her, for Paige's sake. He looked up at his wife. "You need help?"

"I'm not an invalid, Dean," she sighed, sliding off the stallion's back. "But thanks anyway." She hooked an arm through Connie's. "Come on, Con. There's breakfast inside. It's the least I can do to make up for Sam's antics."

"Well, he is annoying as hell…and I do like your breakfasts, sometimes, anyway…"

Paige dragged her into the house, leaving Sam and Dean glaring at each other on the lawn. "Hey, Al, look who the cat dragged in," she announced as they entered the kitchen. Ally looked up from scrubbing plates in the sink as they entered and offered Connie a bright smile. Connie stood beside the door, her wide-eyed gaze sweeping over the kitchen. She'd never seen it in daylight before – and she'd also never seen it jam-packed with kids, like it was now.

"Mommy, mommy! Look, I finished my breakfast!" Owen called, standing up in his chair and holding up his syrup-slathered plate. "I ate it _all_!"

"Good job, buddy," Paige said, leaning down to kiss the top of his head. She took the plate from him and put it in the sink. "Owen, can you say hi to Connie?"

Owen stared up at her, wide-eyed. He jumped off his chair and grabbed Paige's pant leg, standing close to her, his arm half-wrapping around her thigh. "Hello," he whispered, looking down at his feet.

"Oh, don't be shy," Paige told him, rubbing between his shoulder blades. "Connie, this is Owen, and the little guy in the high chair is – "

Connie jumped when something smacked her forehead and stuck there. She reached up and pried it off, staring down in shock at the cheerio in her hand. Her eyes moved to the high chair, where Brody was giggling and slapping his tray with both hands, his feet kicking in excitement.

"– Brody," Paige finished, hiding a smile behind her hand. "Sorry, uh…he likes to use cheerios for target practice."

"Charming," Connie grumbled, tossing the cheerio in the trash and adopting a sour expression.

"You gotta remember to duck," Ally offered. She wiped her hands on a towel and reached down to pick up her son, settling him on her hip. "Say hi to Connie, Levi."

Levi waved cheerfully. "'Lo," he said, clapping his hands when Ally tickled his ribs.

"So where'd you come from, Connie?"

"Around," Connie shrugged. "I…uh… k-i-l-l-e-d the d-e-m-o-n who…uh, did you-know-what to you-know-who's parents."

"Thanks, Connie. For not saying it out loud," Paige said quietly, picking up Brody and settling the baby on her hip, using the washcloth to wipe his hands and face. She looked down at her son, who was pouting and staring at his plate, fork forgotten in his hand.

"And that's Sammy." Paige nodded to the table, where her son was sitting in front of a plate with two bites left. "Samuel Dean, eat the last two bites and you can get up from the table."

"Mooooooooooommy," Sammy whined, pouting down at his two remaining bites. "Doh wanna."

"Here, mommy will help," she sighed, eating one of the two remaining bites. "Now eat that one."

Sammy obliged, handing her his plate while he was still chewing. "Down?" he asked hopefully.

"Yes, Sammy, you may get down," she said, putting the plate in the sink. "There's pancakes, eggs, bacon, and sausage on the stove if you want some, Connie." She turned to Ally. "Just so you know, S-a-m got home compliments of Connie about three minutes ago."

Ally's eyes brightened. "Home? Outside?" she said hopefully.

"Yeah, outside. He's…fighting with Dean."

She rolled her eyes. "Greeeeeeeat," she grumbled, palming her face with her free hand. She put Levi down. "Guess what, Lee?"

"Wha?" Levi said, face lighting up with excitement.

"Go look outside and see who's there!"

Levi ran to the door and dragged it open, going out onto the porch. He stopped at the top of the porch steps, one hand holding tight to the post beside him. He squinted for a minute against the light, and the minute he saw Sam, he inhaled sharply in excitement and stumbled down the steps, setting off at as fast of a run as possible across the lawn towards the towering dark-haired Winchester. Dean was standing in front of him, squared off toe-to-toe about four feet from his younger brother, Sergeant standing quietly by his side like a sentry... or, considering how his ears were pinned flat to his scull, maybe a bodyguard.

Ally followed at a jog, hoping Sam wouldn't do something stupid. She watched as Levi neared the pair.

Sam was quivering, he was so mad. "That's not the point, Dean," he was saying – well, yelling, really. Ally moved quicker, recognizing the anger in her fiancé's voice. "The point is that dad is nowhere to be found and we're sitting her playing homemaker on your farm."

"Ranch!" Dean corrected harshly. "It's a _ranch_, Sam, not a farm. Jesus!"

Levi was grinning from ear to ear and ran up beside his dad, jumping up and down with excitement. He reached up to tug Sam's pants.

Either Sam didn't feel it, or he chose to ignore it. Ally quickened her pace further.

"Daddy, daddy, daddy!" Levi chanted, tugging harder on his pants.

"What?" Sam roared, looking around. He looked down, immediately feeling bad when he beheld the sight of his almost-two-year-old standing frozen with a quivering lip. "Oh, hey, buddy!"

Levi's lip continued to quiver, a fat tear slipping down his cheek. "Daddy," he said in a very small voice.

Sam scooped him up and kissed his cheek. "Daddy's sorry, bud, you startled me," he explained, kissing Levi's other cheek. He gave him a little squeeze. "How're you?"

He said nothing, just leaned away from him and stuck his arms out for Ally, who lifted him to her hip. A flash of hurt crossed over Sam's face before it smoothed over again.

"Hey, Ally," he said somewhat lamely.

"Samuel," Ally replied, holding tight to her now sobbing son. "Any particular reason why you roared at our son?"

"I…"

"He didn't mean it, Al," Dean said hurriedly, not wanting his brother to be in hot water with his fiancé as well as everyone else. "Why don't you take it inside, and I'll be in after I put Sergeant in the paddock, okay?"

"Yeah, okay," Ally agreed coldly, turning on her heel and heading back to the house.

"Look, Ally, I said I was sorry, okay?" Sam said, hurrying to catch up with her. "I just…" His voice faded off as Ally slammed the door in his face.

"What a crazy family, huh boy?" Dean said tiredly, rubbing his eyes. He smiled when Sergeant snorted and bobbed his head up and down as if in agreement. "Yeah, I think so too. Come on, let's put you in the paddock."

He led his stallion away, temporarily leaving the craziness of his family behind in favor for the peaceful quiet of the paddocks.

xxx

Back in the house, Paige was busy wiping off the mouths of her three young sons, forcing herself to remain calm during their fidgeting. "Hold still, please," she said patiently, scrubbing syrup off Owen's cheeks. She lightly smacked his leg when he made a face at her. "Do not make faces at me, Owen Michael. The longer you hold still, the quicker I'll finish." She finally finished and lifted Owen down from the counter.

Dean came back in, rubbing his face. As soon as they saw him, Owen and Sammy ran over to hug him again, voices loud and excited, grins on both of their faces as Dean bent to lift them both into his arms.

Connie watched with fascination from her seat at the bar, her plate piled high with food and balanced on her knee. Transferring the plate to the actual countertop, she stabbed her fork into the pell-mell mixture of breakfast items and watched Dean as he went into…Daddy-mode.

Pissed, angry, ominous, regal, dangerous, furious, protective, fierce, relentless, merciless, stoic – all applied to this man. Sam, even with his greater height, couldn't come close to the intimidation factor. He pretended to be what came to Dean naturally, instinctually. There was just something about Dean that transferred what he needed to say without actually having to say anything – his body language was so strongly represented it made her super-sensitive senses twang uncomfortably.

But as a "Daddy"? Seeing Dean acting so…normal, soft, kind…it was like she was looking through to a parallel dimension. As soon as that thought dawned, she quickly checked that she was in fact _not _accidentally in a parallel dimension – and as soon as she confirmed she was in the proper place, she relaxed and observed the show. They were so busy with their morning routine that the Winchesters didn't even seem to notice, or had forgotten, that she was sitting there.

"So what's the plan today?" Ally asked as she stalked into the kitchen and put Levi down, watching him run off into the family room after Owen, probably to grab his favorite stuffed teddy bear. She pushed away her fury at her fiancé and gave him the cold shoulder when he came through the doorway looking immensely guilty, Dean sending him a hard look over his shoulder, having given him quite the scalding lecture on not raising voices around young kids while still outside when he'd caught Sam hovering on the porch.

"We're going out to a lunch with Amy and the kids; Elliot, Lisa, and Abby; my dad; and Jared and Rachel," Paige said nonchalantly, reaching up to touch Dean's face. A moment of silent communication passed between them and she smiled. He kissed her hand and held it against his face before releasing it and leaning back against the counter.

"That should be fun," Ally said as she handed Connie a plate, apparently not noticing she already had one piled high with food. Connie set it silently under the plate she already had and continued to observe with one eyebrow cocked sardonically. Ally left her and began to clean up the table, leaving one plate for Sam, should he decide to eat. At the moment, she couldn't really find the energy to care. She glared at him for good measure – he was currently standing against the wall, looking awkward and out of place with an expression of guilt fixed upon his features.

"Dean, can you take Owen and Brody and get their teeth brushed and their clothes on?" Paige asked as she removed Brody's bib and tossed it in the washing machine. As she spoke she held Brody out to him, knowing he wouldn't refuse.

"Sure," Dean replied, settling the baby on his shoulder. "Hey, you," he said cheerfully, play-chewing on Brody's cheek. Keeping hold of his hands, he set him on the ground and let him hold onto his fingers. "Come on, Owen. Let's go get dressed."

Owen paced along beside him, babbling excitedly about all the things he'd done since Dean had left. He didn't even seem frustrated that Brody's baby steps were so slow and wobbly.

"Hey, buddy, why can't Brody walk yet?" he asked Owen when he stopped to take a breath.

"Oh, he can," Owen told him, practically skipping in excitement at the opportunity to educate his dad. "He's just wobbly, is all. Watch, let go of his hands."

Dean tried to, but Owen's grip was like a vise. Suddenly struck by an idea, he felt around in his pockets, finding the two paperclips he'd put in their earlier. It took a few moments, but he eased the paperclips in place of his fingers and stepped back.

Brody wobbled for a minute, but he moved forward with a steady determination, his stance super wide to compensate for his unsteadiness. He toddled along until he reached the stairs, where he abruptly sat down and turned partway around to look at Dean.

He just picked him up and walked up the stairs, setting him back on his feet and watching him walk again. The biggest grin spread across his face as he ruffled Owen's hair. "Well, would ya look at that." He felt the same surge of pride pass through him as when Sammy had taken his first steps.

"Told you so," Owen said, rolling his eyes. He ran ahead to his room to brush his teeth. While he was doing that, Dean took Brody into his room and quickly changed his diaper before putting him in a long-sleeved black T-shirt and a pair of blue jeans. The entire time Brody held tight to the paperclips.

"Are we going outside today, daddy?" Owen asked, appearing in the doorway bare-chested and clad only in underwear and jeans. He was holding a T-shirt in one hand and a long-sleeved button-up shirt in the other.

"Well, I was going to do something special on Friday," Dean admitted. "It's a surprise. But we're going to go into town for dinner with the family since it's nice outside, so put on the long-sleeved shirt for me, okay?"

"Okay," Owen said, doing so just then, carefully buttoning up his shirt. "Daddy, how do I tuck it in?"

Dean felt his heart do a little flip, as it did every time Sammy and Owen addressed him as "daddy". He crouched in front of the almost-five-year-old and helped him tuck the shirt into his pants. "We'll buy you a cowboy hat in town, bud. And there's a pair of John's old ropers you can have."

"John?" Owen repeated, brow furrowing.

"He's mommy's brother Chris' oldest son. Your older cousin. He'll be six in August."

"Oh. How many do I have?"

"Well, there's John. His full name is John Bradley, so we sometimes call him JB. He's got twin little sisters, Sydney and Katelyn. Katelyn hates being called Katie so we call her Kate. And they've got a baby brother named Chris, after his daddy."

"Why's he named after his daddy?"

"His daddy died, buddy."

"Oh." Owen fell quiet, watching while Dean fixed his buttons. "Just the four?"

"Well…mommy has a sister named Claire. She lives in California. We don't really talk to her much."

"Oh."

"And then there's my brother, your Uncle Sam. He's got your cousin Levi, and soon you're going to have two new baby cousins." He finished with the buttons and kissed Owen's cheek. "And, you'll have a new baby brother, too."

"_Another_ brother?" Owen asked, beaming.

"In a few months now," Dean confirmed with a nod. "Is that okay?"

"Do I get to help feed him?"

"I'm sure mommy would let you."

"Cool!"

"Yeah, cool. Let's go find those ropers, shall we?

**A/N: In case anyone is wondering – and I bet a few of you are – ropers are not indeed, ropes. They're a type of boot worn by a lot of farmers/ranchers in the West, especially in Wyoming. It's a short boot – it ends three to four inches above the ankle, and most of them have these little tab-looking decoration at the end of the laces. They are extremely comfortable, withstand weather, and are very hardy. So…yeah. :)**

xxx

Connie sat in the now-silent kitchen. Sam sat at the table chewing his food, his smoldering eyes fixed on her, a savage light sparking in his dark eyes. His long, lanky arms were resting on the table, his right bending to shovel food into, in her opinion, an impossibly gigantic mouth.

"What are you staring out, Sasquatch?" she inquired coldly.

"Demonspawn," he said in return, voice as hard and cold as a glacier.

"Boy, that's original." Connie rolled her eyes and took a huge bite of her breakfast.

"Bitch."

"Mushroom."

Sam's brow furrowed in confusion, the first new expression on his face since the kitchen had emptied. "What?" he demanded, incredulous. From her perch on the barstool, she could feel his conflicting emotions of confusion, amusement, anger, and annoyance. Quite frankly, it was giving her a bloody headache. Sometimes, as in times like these, she hated her super-sensitive senses. They gave her headaches too often.

"Your hair, dumbass." She gestured at his head with her fork and lifted an eyebrow. "Mushroom." She ended the statement with a firm nod and crinkled nose, as if she disapproved of his current hairstyle.

He lifted a hand to his head self-consciously, brow furrowing as he frowned. "There is nothing wrong with my hair!" he protested, momentarily forgetting that he hated her. "It does _not _look like a mushroom!"

"Let me say again, mushroom," Connie shrugged. "But if you dislike that, fine. Mophead, then."

"I… what… psh…" he spluttered, not knowing which sentence to start first.

Sam sent Connie a scorching glare and turned sideways to he wouldn't have to look at her, silently hoping that Ally would remember his existence and come into the kitchen again so he wouldn't have to deal with her.

Connie smirked in victory, proceeding to ignore him and dig into her breakfast.

xxx

Two minutes later, Paige's patience was at its end. "Samuel Dean Winchester, where in the world are your ropers?" she sighed, digging through his closet in search of the shoes she wanted.

"Mommy, loo!" Sammy cried.

When she turned around, she covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. Sammy had put his boots on himself, but on the wrong feet.

"Wrong way, buddy," she said, taking them off and fixing them for him. "Can you lace them?"

Sammy stuck his tongue out in concentration and laced them slowly and carefully, but he did lace them all by himself. He just couldn't tie them in a bow at the top, so she did that for him.

"Horsey?" he said hopefully as she set his white Stetson on his head.

"In a little bit, buddy. We're going out to dinner tonight, though."

"Wif who?"

"With your Uncle Sam, Aunt Ally, Aunt Amy and your cousins, Levi, Jared, grandpa, and Elliot."

"'Kay."

"Come on, bud." She tucked in his shirt, buttoned it up, and tugged his pants straight. She grinned hugely. He looked like a miniature cowboy, especially with his sleeves all rolled up and his top two buttons undone. Was she corrupting him? Maybe. But he looked pretty damn cute, especially with his REBEL belt buckle, his blue plaid shirt and white tanktop underneath, and his scuffed ropers. "Daddy, Owen, and Brody are probably already downstairs."

Sammy walked along cheerfully beside her. When she glanced down she forced herself not to laugh.

He had his thumbs hooked in his belt loops.

When he grew up, she was in so much trouble. He was going to be one hell of a heartbreaker.

xxx

They played for a few hours outside. It was starting to get warmer out, and the day was relatively nice, for Wyoming, anyway. The sun was out and a few birds were out and about. The horses were in their paddocks happily munching on hay bales and alfalfa.

And the Winchesters were in the back, surrounded by friends and family and playing a game of impromptu soccer.

"Go Sammy, go!" Dean cheered as he ran down their makeshift soccer field, set in the mostly-frozen lawn beside the pool out back. Sam guarded one of the goals, and Jared the other, he and Rachel having arrived a while after breakfast with Elliot, Lisa and baby Abby. The women, Connie included, were sitting in lawn chairs beside the covered pool talking. Well, in Dean's opinion, more gossiping, but whatever.

Paige was on the sidelines, one hand on her stomach, camera in hand, as was Ally, who sat beside her. Noah, Michael, and their surprise visitors Jake (Jared's brothers and fresh from Iraq with stitches in his left cheek but no more the worse for wear) and Michael David (also Jared's brother – they inserted the middle name so that he was not confused with Michael the FBI Agent, who was on the other side of the family) ran with them. He'd dragged Theo along, adding Michelle to the ruckus, their sons Blaine and Sawyer currently chasing Sammy. Michelle sat beside Connie chatting about knives while she cradled her and Theo's six-month-old daughter, Amber. Lisa sat with Abby bouncing up and down, gurgling madly. Amy sat beside them with Chris before her on teh lawn, playing with blocks with Brody. The two of them were only about six months apart.

It was a mess of adults and kids – the men and children barefoot – but there was laughter all around.

Dean turned his attention to the game when a soccer ball slammed into his temple and sent him sprawling. "Ow!" he bellowed, shaking his head to alleviate the dizziness and fly-tackling Theo, who was laughing madly and cheering at his perfect aim.

"Quick, Owen, get the ball!" he cried, pinning Theo and mercilessly attempting to crush him with his weight.

Owen, his cheeks red with excitement and running around barefoot like the rest of the kids (it was difficult to play soccer in ropers), took the soccer ball and dribbled it down the field, Sammy running beside him, shoving Levi out of the way, as Levi was on the other team. With surprising strength, Owen set his left foot beside the ball, right arm out for balance, face fierce in concentration, and using his instep launched the ball at Sam's goal with such surprising strength it wasn't caught.

Throwing his hands up in victory, Owen cheered. Dean scrambled off Theo to scoop him up and swing him around. "Nice goal, bud!" he said, tickling his tummy mercilessly. He set him back on his feet, where Noah gave him a high-five.

The teams consisted as such – Jared, Dean, Noah, Sammy, Little John (JB), Elliot, Sawyer, Jake, and Owen versus Sam, Michael, Michael David, Levi, Theo, Blaine, Kate and Sydney, and Connie, who had joined just now. She kicked off her boots and rolled her sleeves up. "Bring it," she challenged the field.

That brought on a whole new level of gaming – the competition was on, mostly between the adults. The kids just darted about in-between, stealing the ball when they could but mostly just running around madly or in circles.

By five o'clock in the afternoon, everyone was hungry and ready to go eat. The best restaurant in town, for dinner anyway, was Buchanan's, a family restaurant run by George Buchanan, a Scottish immigrant, and his family. They, in the opinion of those currently gathered, made the best damn hamburger's in the state, thank you very much.

Paige rubbed her forehead and picked up Brody. "Dean," she called from her perch on the porch steps, Sammy's hand firmly in hers. There was a sea of heads below and eight cars parked in the driveway, including her and Dean's charcoal-colored GMC Yukon XL. She knew her husband was out there somewhere with Owen. "Dean!"

"Here," Dean called back, appearing between Michael David and Jake, Owen perched on his back. "Ready to go?"

"Does everyone know who's going in which car?"

"Been over it four times now, honey," he said calmly, holding out his hand. She reached down and grasped it, relieved when he scooped up Sammy in his free arm, as Owen clung to his back. "Let's get this show on the road, shall we? Sammy!"

"Wha, daddy?" Sammy said cheerfully, looking up at him, his hat slightly askew on his head.

"Not you, silly. Uncle Sam. Sam! Ally! Let's go!" he shouted over the noise of everyone grouping and heading for their respective vehicles.

Dean set Sammy and Owen down and opened the right passenger door, tipping the seat forward. "Owen, in the back you go, bud," he said, waiting for him to settle in-between the two carseats in the back. As soon as Owen was mostly situated, he lifted Sammy to the far seat and let him buckle himself with Owen as a watchful big brother. He then took Brody from his wife and settled him in the second carseat, buckling him and tipping the seat forward when he was done. He moved around to the driver's side to give Sam and Ally room to buckle Levi to the third carseat.

"Ready?" Paige asked from the passenger seat, looking over her shoulder to find her family buckled in nice and safe. "Off to dinner we go then."

"Bucknins!" Sammy cheered excitedly.

"It's _Buchanan's_, dummy," Owen corrected him, fidgeting in his booster seat, softening his scolding by a soft pat on the top of Sammy's currently hatless head.

"Owen Michael, be nice," Paige scolded without turning around.

"Yes, mommy," Owen replied immediately, unfazed. "Is it cool daddy? Is Mr. George nice?" he demanded excitedly,

"Mr. George is awesome, bud," Dean promised. The car was a whirlwind of noise and conversation, most of which he tried to ignore so that he wouldn't get distracted. He wasn't surprised when Paige's hand slipped into his. He glanced over quickly at her. "How in the world are they going to seat everyone? What's the reservation for?"

"Twenty-five including Constance, and my dad's meeting us there, so twenty-six."

"Yikes. Where's he gonna put us?"

"In the back room used for private parties."

"Well, _that's _gonna be a nightmare."

"Yes, but mostly, it's just going to be _loud_."

"Fun…"

Dean's prediction had been true. It took fifteen minutes to get all the cars parked, the kids unloaded, the host looking astonished by their sheer number before he recognized Dean and his face relaxed. The host was, coincidentally, Cody Jackson.

"Hey, Cody," Dean greeted him, grabbing him in a bear hug.

"Mr. Winchester, sir," Cody replied with a cheeky wink. "Your table's ready in the back. Follow me." He led the way, slapping people's shoulders here and there. Everyone in the restaurant, not including the out-of-towners, greeted them as they entered, calling hello's and hey y'all across the space.

"How many highchairs do you need?" Cody asked, glancing around and trying to search for babies but being unsuccessful, as there was too much action to keep track of.

Paige did a quick headcount. Sammy, Levi, Brody, Abby, Chris, and Amber, plus booster seats for Owen, the twins, and Blaine. "Six high chairs, four booster seats, if you will, sweetheart," she said to the teen, smiling up at him. Ever since learning what he'd done for her and Jared during the fight a few months back, she'd developed a deeper soft spot for the cheeky teenager.

"Oh, and don't forget one for Sam and Michael," Noah called, grinning wickedly. Rolling their eyes, Michelle and Ally whacked him upside the head in unison.

"Abuse!" he cried, covering his head. "Abuse, abuse! Quick, call the authorities!"

"I am the authority, idiot," Elliot chuckled, flicking his balled-up straw cover in Noah's face.

"Ignore them," Paige sighed, rolling her eyes and patting his arm.

"Right away, ma'am," Cody replied, his eyes crinkling when he smiled at her. "I'll be right back with those." He paused and turned back around, bending down closer so she could hear him. "And, uh, just wanted to let you know that construction finished tearing up The Tank this morning. The new one is cattycorner to where the old one used to stand."

Paige's blood ran cold. Dean squeezed her thigh gently when he sensed her stiffen, and she cleared her throat. "T-Thank you, Cody," she whispered, patting his cheek.

He smiled and disappeared.

"What was that all about?" Dean murmured, leaning around Brody to be closer to her.

She told him, and he looked relieved. "Good. I hope they burn that damn thing. Good riddance." He kissed her cheek. "Now you don't ever have to think about it again."

Paige smiled and hugged Sammy, who was seated in her lap. Dean sat up straight to snipe an insult to Connie which she returned. Something along the lines of "you're such a chick" replied by "well at least I've got guts". They'd been sniping each other a lot more than usual lately, not with malicious intent, but more because it seemed to have become the norm. It was simply the way they communicated, though thankfully, they dialed it down substantially when the kids were in earshot. Like now.

Cody re-appeared with their high-chairs in tow along with a few other waiters, who put them where requested. The younger kids were then settled into high-chairs and fed.

"Dean," she whispered.

He turned to look at her.

"Do you think Sam will try to kill Connie?"

"Not if he's got a brain. I'd kill him first." He grinned crookedly. "She may come in handy someday."

By the time appetizers (onion rings, fries, and garden salads for the pregnant women) were served, there were six different conversations going around the table.

Paige was talking to Connie, who was seated next to her with Sammy between them. "But why would you want an unserrated knife?" she was arguing. "Serrated causes way more damage."

"But it doesn't go in as smooth and makes a mess," Connie retorted. "It's better to have a smooth edge blade when you're trying to stab between the ribs." She paused. "In case, of course, you're talking about a Ka-Bar. Those knives are epic." She produced one out of thin air and grinned wickedly.

"Constance!" she protested, shoving her hand down out of sight. "What is _wrong _with you?"

"What? It's a town of bloody hunters!"

"Manners!" Paige said in a strained voice, palming her face. "You DO NOT brandish knives in public! Got me?"

"Manners? Never heard of them." Connie turned up her nose mockingly. As a joke, of course.

"Ugh, of course you haven't…"

Sam couldn't decide. He sat silently at his dinner chair, beside his wife and with Levi in a high chair between them. The soldier – Jake – sat on his other side. Across the table was Paige and Dean, quietly talking to each other, noses almost touching before they shared a quick kiss and returned to the conversations at each end of the table. Connie was now arguing with Paige about knives, Dean with Jared over guns.

What he couldn't decide was whether these people were nuts, or severely disturbed.

Twenty minutes later, they were swapping war stories. The kids had been moved to a smaller separate table and were being loud but not too messy, blessedly. He just sat there and stared at them, at how normal they all seemed, despite the fact each and every one of them were hunters. It was like being on the outside looking in. He felt like he didn't belong, even as Jake got him talking about college.

And, to top it all off, Ally was still pissed at him for yelling at Levi. Which meant he was most likely sleeping alone tonight.

Now depressed, he resumed his efforts to talk to his fiancé.

* * *

**Thunder Creek, Wyoming**  
Thursday March 30, 2006 – 4:15 AM

Paige rubbed her eyes tiredly and sat up. She wasn't sure what had woken her up, but she noticed immediately that her husband was not beside her. "Dean?" she called, squinting against the shaft of light pouring across the bed from the crack in the bathroom doorway. The shower shut off and Dean appeared a few moments later with a towel wrapped tight around his waist.

"What's up?" he asked, rubbing his newly-shaved face.

"What are you doing?"

"Sam's going to get the ranch treatment today." He sat on the bed and bent down to kiss her good morning. His skin was blazing from the heat of the shower and warmed her through the fabric of her T-shirt. "I was just about to go down and make coffee. Sorry I woke you," he murmured.

She gently pushed him away and sat up to stretch, tapping his smooth cheek. "The alarm was set for fifteen minutes from now, anyway," she sighed. "Fifteen minutes isn't too big of a deal."

He chuckled and disappeared into the closet. She could hear his hand slapping the ceiling until he found the light switch and the light flooded onto the carpet. "Found it," he called good-naturedly.

Paige laughed and dragged herself out of bed, thankful for the heater that warmed the house. She ambled over to the closet just in time to see Dean tug on a plain white T-shirt, his jeans still unbuttoned and socks half on his feet, his boxers peeking out of his waistline. She fished around her side of the closet, searching for her favorite sweatpants.

"Are you taking Owen?" she asked, kicking off her pajama pants in favor of the warmer sweatpants.

"I was planning on it. I'll come back and get him at a more decent hour, though. He's a little young for four in the morning," Dean replied. He was buttoning up his black long-sleeved shirt as he spoke, his eyes fixed on her. Her shirt was off, revealing her bra and her little growing baby bump. A happy little smile tugged at his lips at the sight.

"Your shirt is crooked," she pointed out, smirking.

Dean wasn't the slightest bit embarrassed to be caught looking. He just closed the distance in two strides and wrapped her in his arms, resting his chin on the top of her head.

"You smell like soap," she observed with a little half-smile.

"Hmm," he agreed, squeezing her tight before releasing her to button his pants and pull his socks the rest of the way on. "It's going to be weird without you out there with us." It was true, too. She'd been present at all of the beginning of spring cattle drives since she was a kid.

"It's going to be weird _staying _here while you go out." She made a brief expression of discomfort and rubbed her back, attempting to knead the tight muscles. "You and the guys driving the herd to the east pasture?" she asked.

"Yep. Sounds like it's going to be an all-day thing."

"Well, if you don't get back in time for dinner I'll put it in the fridge for you to eat when you get home. I made lunches for you yesterday. Jared picked them up and promised to put them in the bed of his truck for you guys. He's closer to the East Pasture than we are."

"Thanks."

Paige shrugged and flashed him a wry smile. "What else are wives good for?" As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized she should not have said them aloud. Dean snagged her waistband.

"Oh, I can think of a few things…" he said huskily. With one easy yank he pulled her down into his lap. "Especially– "

She slapped a hand over his mouth and bit back a laugh. His lips curved into a smile under her fingers, his eyes sparkling with amusement, the gold flecks becoming more prominent amongst the depths of devilish green. He didn't push her hand away, instead, he leaned closer and slipped an arm around her waist to hold her close while the other hand slipped under her shirt to rest against her lower back.

The sparkle in his eyes intensified. She tilted her head sideways, wariness being pushed aside as curiosity overcoming her. He'd never done this before, and she wanted to know what he was up to. As soon as she dropped her hand from his lips, his smile became tender as his other hand settled on her back as well. With a suddenness that made her jump slightly his fingers started massaging the painful knots.

She moaned – embarrassingly – aloud from the pain followed by the relief as the muscles relaxed for the first time in more than a week. She rested her forehead on his shoulder and lost sense of time.

"Better?" he asked after a while, fingers still surely massaging out the tightness. He chuckled slightly when she nodded but didn't say anything, her eyes shut and body relaxed. Taking advantage of her not paying attention, he kissed her on the forehead. When his hands finally stilled she sighed and kissed the side of his neck.

"Thanks," she said, voice muffled in his shirt.

"Anytime," Dean promised, rubbing her shoulder blade absently. "There really is magic in the magic fingers," he teased. When she lightly smacked his chest he only smiled.

They both laughed softly.

"Well, now that I have you exactly where I want you…" he trailed off with a chuckle when she slapped him again without opening her eyes. "Okay, being serious now." He was pleased when her right eyelid cracked open to peer up at him, curiosity sparkling in their depths.

"What's wrong, Dean?" Paige asked.

"A social worker hasn't even come by yet," he said reluctantly. "And that's just the tip of my iceberg of worries."

Paige just settled against his chest and relaxed in his embrace, knowing that he would eventually spill what was bothering him. His head dropped heavily to rest on her shoulder, his forehead pressing against her collarbone.

"I feel like I'm losing him, Paige," he sighed, voice muffled but clear. He didn't need to say his name. She knew he was talking about Sam. "I feel like he's slipping through my fingers. Sometimes I look at him and I don't even know who he is anymore. He's so full of hate and revenge, that he just…well, you saw him yell at Levi today. That's…my baby brother wouldn't do that. Not ever. He's…he's different. And I don't like who he's turning into. He just…he doesn't get it. He doesn't get that he's got a wonderful, loving, special fiancé, a beautiful son… don't get me wrong, he's my brother and I'd die for him. But sometimes I just want to beat the hell out of him, you know?"

She did know, but kept that opinion to herself.

"He doesn't deserve her," he continued in a rough voice. "She's too good for him. He treats her like crap… half the time he barely even acknowledges that she exists, except for when he needs her for release. And that's not right. He's using her, and I don't think he means to or even realizes what he's doing. And that… that's just not Sam. After Jessica died, he… there's darkness in him. Lots of it. I see it every time I look into his face. But I love him, Paige. He's my baby brother, and I pretty much raised him. I just…"

Dean started shaking, from anger or despair, she didn't know. She just ran her fingers through his hair and rested her hand on the back of his neck, hopefully providing comfort.

"Sam isn't the same person he used to be. And to be perfectly honest, I love hunting. I do. It's a part of who I am." Dean paused, as if unsure how to continue. "But Sam…he's driven by revenge. He _needs _to kill things. And as soon as you _need _to kill things, that's when you're supposed to stop. Because that's when you start to lose yourself. I can't leave him to hunt alone, he'd get himself killed. It's like his self-preservation instinct burned up with Jess. If I'm not with him, he'll be dead in a week. But that's just it. He doesn't really get that I don't _want _to be with him all the time. He doesn't get that I'm different.

"I'm not the same man I used to be. For the better, in my opinion. I'd so much rather be here. He just doesn't understand life, I don't think. And he certainly doesn't understand _my _life. That I'd rather be here, watching movies and throwing popcorn, or playing with the boys all day. That I'd rather trail cows with the guys and be with Sergeant and the dogs, and then come home to you, to my family. That I'd rather be here, making a family with you, making love to you, than in some crappy motel room where I barely get any sleep anyway because you and the boys aren't with me. And I'm getting really tired of it."

Paige hugged him tight, tears pricking her eyes. He was getting burned out. She recognized that. "You have to do it, Dean," she whispered into his hair. "You wouldn't be able to live with yourself if something happened to Sam."

"I know that, love," he murmured, kissing the hollow of her temple. "But it doesn't mean that I want to. I just wanted you to know that."

She forced his head up, her hands framing his face, emotion flickering across his features and through the depths of his agonized green eyes. "I _do _know that. But hunting is a part of who you are, Dean. To give that up… to give that up is to give up a part of yourself. I can't ask you to do that. No one can. Not even Sam." She kissed his forehead, and when she pulled away, his eyes were closed, his eyelashes a dark brush against his cheeks. "So maybe, just maybe, you should try to _make _Sam understand. That way, somewhere along the line, it won't be for lack of trying."

"That's what I plan to do," he promised, hugging her tight. "When I find my father, I'm going to give him a huge hug." He chuckled despite himself. "And then, I'm going to sock him in the face."

"That's the man I married," she whispered, and kissed him.

Xxx

_2:12 am (same morning, just a bit before the above)_

Sam was sleeping like crap. His dreams were haunted by Jessica and Ally on the ceiling, by a crucified Levi, by skinned dogs on the front porch and fields of bones raining blood over the landscape. The nightmares clawed at him, tore at him, but no matter how hard he tried he couldn't wake up.

_Ally! _His mind screamed. She was his refuge, his solace from these horrible nightmares. _Ally!_

He thrashed, sweat beading on his brow, his eyes flickering madly under his skin. Ally wasn't here. He knew she wasn't, because she'd kicked him out of their room. Panic engulfed him – he couldn't wake up. A man with yellow eyes loomed above him, face twisted into a cruel smile, knife in his hand. He drew it back, his eyes gleaming, and –

A soft, warm hand settled on his ice-cold brow. His thrashing and the throbbing of his head ceased. He could breathe again. Yellow eyes faded to be replaced by the more peaceful blackness of nothing, a refreshing blank screen to soothe his tortured soul.

"Ally…" he murmured, hand blindly searching for her. A smaller hand found his, fingers squeezing tight, the band of her engagement ring cold against his middle finger.

"I'm here, Sam."

xxx

_4:25_

Dean strode up the stairs, Stetson perched on his head and boots laced up nice and comfortable, a cup of steaming coffee in his hand.

This day, Sam Winchester would learn what it was like to be a rancher.

He threw the door open, unsurprised to see that Ally was absent. He could hear the shower. Being careful not to spill his coffee, he walked over to the bed, set the cup on the nightstand, grabbed the glass of water, and dumped it on his brother's head.

"Rise and shine, Sammy," he said loudly as his brother gasped and flew bold upright, the water dripping down the contours of his bare chest. He yanked the blanket up to cover his nakeness, spluttering in male annoyance.

"What the hell, Dean!" he shouted, confused.

"Wake up," Dean ordered, lifting his coffee cup. He tossed the clothes he'd been holding at his brother, satisfied when they wacked his face. Sam stared down at the pair of Wranglers, the chaps, the ropers, the flannel shirt, and long socks, and the simple belt in the pile. "We've got work to do."

"It's four in the morning!"

"Well, Sammy, welcome to life on a ranch. You've got three minutes to get dressed. Ally can help with the ropers. Lacing them is a bit confusing at first."

And with that, he strode out of the room and made a beeline for the kitchen. Paige was waiting with a plate of hot food that he scarfed down in a minute tops. He accepted the super-thermos full of coffee exactly the way he liked it and kissed her long and hard.

"You taste like coffee," she complained, wrinkling her nose and gently shoving him back. "Have fun out there." Her eyes were wistful.

"Next year, honey," he reminded her, kissing the crown of her head.

"Yeah, I know."

Sam stumbled into the kitchen, looking awkward and out of place in his new attire. "You are an insufferable asshole."

"Bout damn time, Princess," Dean grunted. "And you are an insufferable whiny baby. Move your ass. Let's go." He kissed his wife again. "Love you. See you tonight."

Paige waved them off as they headed down the porch steps in the direction of the stables. She'd passed Sam a thermos that he'd wordlessly accepted. Snickering slightly, she hoped Dean would grill his ass big time.

Farm, here ass.

This here was a ranch.

Bout damn time he learned the difference.

_By the end of today, baby girl, he will._

Paige jumped, gasped, and whirled around to find the kitchen empty. Agony ripped through her. He hadn't spoken in weeks. She'd thought he'd left. But now...

"Chris..."

_I'm right here, baby girl. Always._

xxx

Dean strode silently along the path. This day had been carefully calculated. Sam didn't get chaps. He'd never really ridden a horse except for that one time on Taurus. So, in (lets face it) petty but deserved revenge, he was purposefully putting Sam on Donas, his wife's old gelding. 'Donas', for the record, meant 'Devil' in Gaelic. The name was fitting. That horse had a trot like a jackhammer and a temper worse than Brad's.

The barn was warm. He wasted no time taking up the two horses and cross tying them in the isle. "Come on, Sam," he ordered.

That led to a series of tasks Sam learned to hate. First, he got his hands pecked by the chickens when he took their eggs. Then, he got to feed the pigs, of which there was the worst smell he'd ever beheld in his life. Feeding the horses was easy. Then it was the donkey – who kicked him on the ass, literally, while Dean just sniggered – and the Shetland pony, who bit his thigh. All of this, Dean observed with his arms crossed and a smirk on his face.

Then, he got to milk the damn cow.

He now hated cows. Like, _really _hated cows.

Three solid kicks, a soon-to-be black eye, and three stomped on fingers later, he had half a pail. Dean shoved him aside and got what he needed, the cow not protesting his stupid brother's presence at all. Bastard cow… and bastard Dean, too.

That all took about twenty-five mintues, as Dean had him practically running from station to station. He carried the milk and the eggs to the kitchen, and then Dean dragged him back out to the barn and unhooked the two horses.

It was barely five in the morning.

Dean mounted Sergeant easily, turning him in tight circles to soothe his friskiness.

Envious of his brother's skill, he mounted the horse he was on like he'd mounted Taurus, except before he was even properly settled, Sergeant set off at a canter and his horse bolted right after him. He almost fell off twice and his butt was mercilessly pounded into the hard leather saddle.

Dean halted Sarge at the fence and bent down to open it. As soon as they were both through, he closed it again.

"Donas," Dean said, pointing to the horse Sam was astride. "Let's walk for a while."

Sam was happy to oblige, slightly nervous of the horse. Donas meant Devil. He knew that much.

"We're going to trail the cattle all day," his brother explained. "One of the herd breaks off, you push it back. The goal is to keep the herd together as we move. As soon as we get them into the East, they mostly just graze, so we'll be sitting stationary. You get one break for lunch. Got me?"

"Yeah, got you," Sam grumbled. And then much to his chagrin, Sergeant started trotting for about ninety paces. Donas' trot was so bouncy it felt like his nether regions were being pulverized. He felt like he was going to die, and it wasn't even six am yet.

Sergeant was cantering again. Donas kept up easily, the golden horse's canter much smoother than his trot. "What type is he?"

"Quarter Horse," Dean replied. "Palomino. That's his color, the golden with the blonde mane. He was Paige's until she got Cisco instead. She was going to reture him. She sold him to one of our hands that works for us during planting season. His name's Hank. Donas stays here for the off season and is Hank's when he's here."

Sam winced. His back was starting to cramp. They rode like this for quite a few paces, Dean's movements smooth and perfectly in sync with the horse, while he clutched the saddle horn and tried to alleviate the tension on his ass.

"Relax, Sam. Hurts a whole lot less."

He tried, he really did. And then he realized his brother was smiling.

Damn cowboy.

Sam was being tortured.

It was torture of the most acute kind. Dean, Elliot, Jared, even Michael, were perfect riders. They were smooth, balanced, graceful. He just bounced around like a jack hammer. He didn't even have rope. His brother, however, had both hands in the air, a rope coiled and swinging a loop over his head as he chased down a cattle that bolted towards the fence line, where barbed wire was.

The damn asshole was riding with no hands, and looked completely at ease. He and Sergeant urged the cow back to the herd, satisfied it wouldn't try to hurt itself on the barbed wire. Jared was currently fixing some messed up fences, his heavy gloves on to protect from the barbs.

He just sat there, mostly, though Donas occasionally moved on his own to cut off a cow attempting to move from the herd. All he did was sit there. The damn horse was doing all the work. It was boring, too. They were moving at a slow pace across the huge open space, towards an unknown destination.

"Horse is better than he is," Elliot observed, trotting next to Dean on the right flank of the herd.

"No shit," Dean chuckled. "Sam sucks at all things horses. Never done it in his life."

"You've got natural talent, though. Donas took to you first time we put you on him, and that was back in the days when he tried to kill everyone but Paige and Chris." He glanced back at the gangly and awkward young man, clutching the pommel, his shoulders hunched and face down, being baked by the sun. He was wearing no chaps, so his legs were going to be rubbed as hell tomorrow. "Sam, not so much. Why'd you bring him out, anyway?"

Dean shrugged. "We had a hole in the line at the tail of the heard. Who else to fill it?"

"In other words, just to torture him, then?" Elliot guessed, grinning. He _did _know Dean pretty well.

A sneaky smirk was all Elliot got in reply, and he laughed, to which Dean joined in.

"Serves him right," Dean sighed, pushing his hat up slightly to scratch his forehead. "He called this place a farm."

Elliot snorted. "That was a mistake."

"Ha, no kidding," he chortled. Sergeant tensed underneath him, and his rope was instantly in his hand as a cow bolted ahead. He didn't need to direct his horse. He knew what to do. They had the cow back in the herd where he belonged in a jiffy.

"Dean Winchester, the hunting cowboy," Elliot teased, watching the impressive combination of partnership, speed, strength, and grace the pair displayed.

Dean flourished his hat. "Damn straight," he smirked. He urged Sergeant to a canter and looped around the herd, coming up beside Sam. "Hanging in there, little brother."

"I hate you," Sam snarled.

He just smirked and returned to Elliot's side.

"One of these hours, he may just get it," Dean sighed.

Elliot laughed. "Better hope he does."

xxx

Sam was weary. Everything ached. His feet were killing him, his legs were trembling, and his back was a mass of knots from fighting the horse's movements all day - ten hours he'd sat on this damn thing. They'd driven the cows into the pasture, and then trailed them until sundown. They'd been too busy to even have lunch, so he was starving on top of everything else. He was also sunburned on his face and neck, and his legs felt like all the skin had been chafed off of them.

Dean dismounted and clapped Sergeant on the neck. "Did good today, didn't we, boy?" he murmured, rubbing his horse's ears. He watched as Sam took a deep breath, slowly swung his leg over, kicked his foot out of the stirrup, and dropped back to the ground, kneeing Donas's side in the process. The horse whinnied shrilly, pinned his ears, and skittered away from Sam, stomping angrily at the ground.

He grabbed the gelding's reigns, smirking as his brother's knees crumpled and he fell flat on his ass in a puff of dust.

"So, what was that about a farm, Sammy?" Dean questioned, leaning over him slightly and raising an eyebrow.

"Ranch," Sam groaned, making no move to get up. "It's a ranch."

"Atta boy."

Lesson learned.

* * *

E/N: Okay, so I'm not too big of a fan of this chapter. But it was fun to write. Mostly just relationship and funny/cute scenes. Next might have some John action... give me 5 reviews and I'll get it out ASAP.

FiveForFighting09, hope you liked the cowboy parts! There's more in the next chapter… bwahaha. ;)


	29. Chapter 29

A/N: Hey, y'all. So, LOVE all the reviews. Y'all made my day! I adore you all. And now, the chapter, as promised - drama, fighting, love, cute kids, etc. Next will cover Benders. I think... o.O

And a very special happy, HAPPY BIRTHDAY to FiveForFighting09! I hope you enjoy this chapter, there's lots of cuteness just for you! Thank you so, so much for your continued support. YOU ROCK! *gives jar of cookies* I hope your birthday is wonderful and tons of fun. Now get reading, girl! :D

Disclaimer: I own only my OCs… and my corner of the sandbox.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Nine  
**Currently Untitled

**Thunder Creek, Wyoming  
**Thursday March 30, 2006

Dean walked into the kitchen, momentarily ignoring his exhaustion as he kicked off his boots and hung his coat on the rack. He trudged to the fridge and bent over to search for the dinner Paige said she'd leave in the fridge. He found lasagna already covered on a plate and waiting to be put in the microwave. He did just that, dragging himself to the nearest kitchen chair and wolfing down his dinner.

"Food?" Sam grunted hopefully as he slowly walked into the kitchen, wincing with each step, his hands clutching his ass.

"Fridge," Dean replied, taking his plate to the sink and scrubbing it off before sticking it in the dish washer. He nursed a beer while he watched Sam dragging himself all over the kitchen to make his dinner. By the time Sam settled himself in the seat across from him, he was moaning and groaning like someone was torturing him.

"You are a sadistic asshole," Sam growled through his clenched teeth, his legs and butt flaring with extreme pain at any moment. He felt like he'd had his entire lower body pulverized by a jackhammer. At the current moment, his brother was definitely not his favorite person in the world. "Where is everyone?"

Dean could hear water running upstairs. "Bath time," he said with a shrug. "Probably have all four of them in there."

"Four? In one tub?"

"It's practically a Jacuzzi, dude," he sighed, dumping out the last half of his beer and dropping the glass in the recycle bin. "I'm going to go change and see if Paige and Ally need any help."

Sam grunted in reply and returned to eating his lasagna.

Dean went up the stairs two at a time, pausing at the top to listen. He glanced left to see his bedroom doors thrown wide open, light spilling out from the open bathroom door onto the rug. He slipped silently into the closet and pulled on clean clothes, a simple white T-shirt and a pair of sweat pants. He'd take a shower as soon as the kids were done. He smiled as he heard the babble of all their voices drifting into the hallway.

"Hey," he called out as he neared the door so he wouldn't startle the two women he could hear inside.

"DADDY!"

"Owen, stay IN the bath!" Paige's voice commanded loudly as he entered the large room. He saw the boys in the tub, surrounded by gigantic amounts of thick, fluffy bubbles in the giant tub.

"Hey, boys," Dean greeted them. "Owen, sit down please." Owen did as he asked, beaming up at his parents and his aunt. He bent down to kiss his wife and then bent down to plant a kiss on Sammy, Owen, Brody, and Levi's heads. "Havin' fun?"

"Ubbles," Sammy cheered, holding up huge handfuls of them.

"Thank god you're here," Ally joked. "Now we have an extra pair of hands to hold them _still_." As she spoke she handed him the bottle of shampoo. "Sammy is next. Do you mind helping us?"

"Nope, not at all," he said as he knelt beside the tub, scrubbing the soap onto Sammy's scalp. "What'd you and mommy do today, buddy?"

"Ish," Sammy replied, grinning.

"Dishes, huh. Did you wash them?"

Sammy nodded. Paige grinned. "He had a mini-bath," she whispered in Dean's ear, making him smile. She returned her attention to Brody when he slipped under the water and came back up in his mother's hands, giggling with glee, bubbles clinging to his chin like a beard.

"Well, we had a long day today," Dean explained to the room at large, bumping shoulders gently with both his wife and his soon-to-be sister-in-law. "Poor Sam probably won't make it from the kitchen to the couch."

"That bad, huh?" Ally snorted, grinning despite herself. Karma was a bitch, after all.

"Oh, yeah. That bad."

"Let me guess – he fought the movement the entire time."

"Yahtzee."

"Yahtzee!" Sammy cheered, throwing his hands up in the air and pegging his mother and his aunt in the face with a mini bubble snowball. Dean laughed outright, even as they both sent him disgruntled looks and wiped their faces.

"Nice aim, buddy! High five!" he chortled, holding his hand up. Sammy slapped it enthusiastically, as did Owen and Levi. "What about you, Lee? Did you and mommy do anything today?"

"Bucato!" Levi cheered happily, slapping his hands on the water.

"Bucato?" Dean repeated, rolling the strange word around on his tongue. He looked to Ally. "What does that mean?"

"Laundry," she translated, using a cup to rinse her son's hair. "I speak to him in both Spanish and Italian so his vocabulary is a little mixed. _Bucato _is Italian for laundry. Granted, he only knows simple words, but he understands when I speak to him."

"I didn't know that," he admitted, surprised. "You speak Spanish _and _Italian?"

Ally grinned. "I'm a woman of many talents, brother dearest."

"Thanks for that lovely mental image." Dean rolled his eyes and rinsed Sammy's hair.

"Mama," Levi crooned, holding his hands up. "Agua! Agua!"

"Not now, bapas," Ally replied, rinsing his hair a second time just in case. "Be patient."

"Agua," he repeated in a whine.

"Not yet, mi amore."

"What's bapas mean?"

"Oh," she replied, frowning. "Nothing, really. It's just… a pet name, I suppose. Bapasitos. My brother called Levi that one day. He liked it, so it just… stuck, I suppose. I'm not sure it means anything."

"Hmm."

Ally smiled. "Don't worry. If he starts blabbing in Spanish or Italian, tell him English, and he'll translate it for you."

"Nice to know." He looked at his wife. "Did _you _know she speaks Spanish and Italian?"

"Yeah," Paige said as she scrubbed Brody with a soft washcloth. "Her and her brother Jeremy both do. So do their parents. I even know a bit of both, enough to communicate roughly, but not enough for fluent fast conversation. Growing up with them, it kind of rubs off. She picked up a lot of German from us, too. And some Gaelic. It's not spoken much anymore, but my great-grandma spoke only to us in Gaelic. Full-blooded Highlander, that one."

"Highlander?"

"Scotland, honey," Paige clarified for him. "Why else did you think my brother had a kilt in his closet?"

"Uh…because he was a freak?"

She slapped him. "Was not. I have one too, except they call it a pleated skirt, not a kilt. And Ally, by the way, can cook up all sorts of awesomely amazing Italian dishes. Her pistachio ice cream is to die for."

"Ice cream, huh?" Dean said, looking over at the brunette. "Well, then, guess I'm happy to welcome you to the family."

"Oh, please," Ally grinned, tweaking his nose. "I've been a part of the family for years."

"This is true…" he trailed off, smiling, and nudged her with his shoulder again. He accepted the towel she handed him and used it to lift Sammy out of the water and bundle him, using the little duck-fashioned hood to scrub his hair dry. "Come on, buddy. Let's go get you dressed for bedtime."

Sammy kissed his cheek and wrapped his arms around Dean's neck, flashing a cheeky smile at Owen's sulky expression. He snuggled into Dean's shoulder. "Lub you, daddy," he said thickly.

"Love you, too, little man," he replied, tickling his soft tummy and laughing when Sammy started thrashing and laughing hysterically.

The almost-two-year old cooperated and allowed him to quickly change his diaper and dress him in his soccer-themed pajamas. "Where's Frankie?" he asked him, looking around the nursery for his son's beloved stuffed bear. He found him in the crib and picked up his son, settling him on his hip and handing him the teddy bear.

Paige emerged from Brody's room, closing the door behind her. "Hey, boo," she said as she nuzzled Sammy's soft cheek affectionately. She sighed and rolled her shoulders. "So how did the drive go?"

"Good," he replied as they headed back downstairs for the annual Friday night movie before bed. "It was successful and we didn't lose any of the herd, which is always a plus. I'm just tired from working all day."

"I believe you," she said. "Come on, Owen," she called. Her almost-five-year-old ran eagerly out of his room, stuffed dog under his arm.

"Toy Story, mommy?" he said hopefully, reaching up to grab Dean's free hand and hold on tight.

"Maybe, buddy. We have to ask Levi first," Paige said, rubbing his head. Ally appeared with Levi jumping up and down excitedly, babbling non-stop. "Toy Story?" she asked her best friend as they walked in a group down the hall and down the stairs. Dean put Sammy down and let him walk with Owen, who was still holding tight to Dean's hand in an almost absent-minded way.

"That work for you, Lee?" Ally asked, scooping her son up to blow raspberries on his stomach.

"Si, mama!"

"Toy Story sounds great," she sighed, kissing Levi's cheek before setting him back on his feet and letting him run off with Sammy into the living room.

"You can go to bed if you want," Paige said, leaning into Dean's side.

"Well, I am pretty tired," Dean admitted, rubbing his eyes. "But, I can't miss out on annual Thursday movie and ice cream night. That's illegal." He grinned and kissed the top of her head. he drew Ally into his other side and looked her in the eye. "You're amazing, you know that?"

"I try," Ally said, a little taken aback by the show of affection, especially when he planted a kiss on her forehead.

"You deserve better than he's treating you right now."

"Um…" she stammered, not knowing how to form a coherent sentence.

"Sam's in the kitchen if you want to talk to him."

Right then, they heard the growl of an diesel engine growing nearer before it paused in the doorway and died altogether. A few moments later, someone knocked twice on the door. More of a pound, really.

"That'll be Jared," she said, seeking temporary escape so she could sort through what had just happened. She disengaged herself from Dean's embrace and headed to the door, opening it and smiling up at Jared. "Hey, good to see you," she greeted him. "And you, too Rachel. Good to see you." She stepped forward to hug the smaller woman.

"You, too," Rachel replied, squeezing tight before letting go.

"Come in, come in," Ally said, ushering them inside. "I see you couldn't miss the sacred movie night, either?" she teased.

"Never," Jared said with a chuckle.

"UNCLE JARED!" young voices screeched at the sound of his voice.

"Excuse me, ladies." He tipped his hat and strode into the living room to dote upon the children.

Ally grinned. "Good man, that one," she said wistfully, nudging Rachel in the side. "You got lucky."

"And don't I know it," Rachel replied, grinning. "You're looking great, Ally."

"Thanks, you too," she replied, slinging an arm over her friend's shoulders. "So have you two picked a date yet?"

"We're thinking July or August. Sometime warm. He'd love to have the wedding here. It's so beautiful. I didn't think I was going to like living here, but after seeing the summers, I just can't resist. Suffering through the winters is totally worth it."

"Yeah, tell me about it. I was raised in California. This is a far cry from California weather. I honestly didn't know how Paige could stand it. you get used to it, though."

"That you do," Rachel agreed with a wide smile. "So have you and Sam decided on a wedding date yet?"

"Well, Sam's not really one for planning. I was thinking the same, June, July, or August. I know I want to have it here on this property. Laid back type of thing, you know. Barbeque, archway in the grass, pool for the kids, temporary dance floor…" she trailed off, a dreamy look on her face. "It would be perfect."

"I agree completely. What about the babies? Do you know what they are yet?"

"Yep. Sam doesn't want to know, or hasn't decided yet. I'm not really sure, to be honest." Ally frowned at that for a minute. "I found out that it's a boy and a girl, though." She pressed her hand to the top of her belly. "The boy is up here, and," she pressed her hand to the lower half of her growing belly, "the girl is down here."

"Oh, how neat," Rachel breathed. "Even after being a nurse, I still love working in the neonatal wing. Just seeing all those little babies makes you so happy. It's probably the happiest place in the whole hospital."

"And what about you? When are you due?"

"November eighth," she replied, smiling. "I don't know if I want to know the gender. I know Jared won't really mind either way, but he'd _love _to have a son. He's already started working on a nursery. It's pretty dang cute, actually."

"Yeah, Dean does the same thing," Ally commented. "He disappears in there for an hour or two every day and emerges with wood dust and paint all over him, but has declared it off limits. The only people allowed inside are Brad, Noah, Michael, Elliot, and Jared. They're making everything by hand, that much I know. And the paint on his clothes is always soft blue and brown, so I'm assuming the nursery is going to be pretty dang cute."

"Well, if it's anything like Sammy's, that's a given," Rachel said with a half-smile. "Jared's declared it off-limits as well. He let me see the painting, that that's it. He split the walls in half with a divider that's the same wood as the flooring. He'll wait for the actual overcoat to see what the gender is. But he's almost finished the crib and has started work on the dresser."

"These cowboys… I swear, they are men of many talents."

The two women laughed.

"I feel so blessed, though." Rachel smiled wide and looked down at the ring on her finger. "I couldn't have asked for a better fiancé and father for this baby. He's so amazing. Strong as a bull, and stubborn as hell, but generous to a fault and friendly as can be. And his family has been so welcoming."

"The Newbern's, Knox's, Brent's, and Buchanan's are like that," Ally said as she led Rachel into the kitchen to get some water, ignoring her sulking fiancé, who was still seated at the kitchen table. Rachel smiled and waved hello before returning to conversation with her friend. "Friendly, open, nice people, for the most part."

"I'm kind of afraid to meet them all, honestly," Rachel admitted. "Jared's party is Saturday and so many of them are flying out tonight and tomorrow. Jared said there's probably going to be two hundred people there."

"Not including the town," Ally pointed out. "Don't stress. They all seem to like you. It's about time he settled down, anyway, from what Paige has told me. My family will be here, too. They're just a bunch of crazy Italians. Don't worry, you'll be fine. They won't expect you to remember all of their names anyways. Plus, Jared's brothers all pretty much look like him except for Theo. And all of Michael's brothers look very similar, especially because they all wear their hair the same. There's six boys, and I can't even keep them straight." She patted Rachel's hand. "If it's any consolation, it took me four years to keep both her and my families straight. No one will expect more than that."

"Meaning?"

"My family is extremely confusing," Ally explained as she handed Rachel a glass of water and perched on the barstool. "Mostly, because my dad's brother Mike married my mom's sister Amy, so her kids Jonathan and Jackie are my double first cousins. Then they got divorced, both remarried, and have kids from that, too, as well as kids from their spouses previous marriages."

Rachel thought about it for a while. "That's…weird," she decided.

"Yeah, you're telling me," she joked, smiling. "Paige's family is the same way, sort of. Her parents were married for a while. Her mom became an alcoholic after they lost their son Garrett to a poltergeist. Their daughter Claire survived, barely, because she was born almost two months premature. Paige was hurt really badly, too, and was in the ICU for weeks with deep slashes across her abdomen. It's a miracle, and thanks to John Winchester, that either of them are alive today. But that's another story." She paused to study Rachel's reaction, satisfied the young nurse was taking it all in stride.

She gestured for Ally to continue.

"Well, Wendy's alcoholism got really bad. So bad, in fact, that she was verbally abusing her two eldest children, because she for some sick twisted and unknown reason blamed them for Garrett's death, as well as the death of her younger sister Kim, who got in a car accident and died years before either of them were even born. I remember seeing Uncle Brad, Chris, and Paige around that time. She was nine, I remember because it was around Halloween when it all went down. He had had enough and demanded a divorce.

"That escalated into a custody war. Chris and Paige refused to even talk to their mom, and Claire was a total mommy's girl. She was only six when this all went down, poor thing. She had no idea what was going on. In the end, Claire couldn't bear to be away from her mom, so the settlement was that Brad kept full custody of Chris and Paige, and Wendy had half-custody of Claire. Claire came out to visit and stayed all summer, but stayed with her mother for the rest of the year. I hear she's sober, now, and has cleaned up her act, but still harbors bitterness for Brad."

"Why?" Rachel wondered. "And should we be gossiping like this? I feel like an old hen."

"Relax," Ally said, rolling her eyes. "This is ancient news. Nobody really flaps their ears about it anymore. So, as I was saying, Wendy is bitter of Brad. They divorced in nineteen eighty-nine, and Uncle Brad seemed to be happy again. He moved the family out here, to Great-Grandpa Roy Knox's old ranch, because he just adored Chris and Paige. So they grew up here, for the most part. Brad split his time between Wyoming and our dual-family business in California. He'd spend Monday through Thursday in California and the rest of the week at home in Wyoming with the kids. It worked out because the Newbern and Knox families go way back, as in to like, great-great-great-grandfathers or something, like the Newbern's do with my family. Brad and Wendy had dated through high school, you know, lifelong romance sort of thing. Anyway, Brad's family has a ton of land in this valley, too, them being hunters too and all that, so together they founded Thunder Creek. That was way back in the eighteen hundreds.

"So, to get back on topic. There was a woman back in California who was close to my family. My dad, Tony, introduced her to Uncle Brad. She'd been divorced for a few years and had a son and a daughter with her ex-husband, who, coincidentally, was also some sort of addict. Anyway, they became really good friends, and as they say, the rest was history. They got married in nineteen ninety-one, when Paige and I were eleven, Chris was thirteen, Claire was eight, and my little brother Jeremy was eight. Her name is Deborah Jean White, now Deborah Jean Newbern.

"Uncle Brad and Aunt Debbie are super happy together, all mushy and that sort of thing. She stays at home in California, for the most part, now that Paige is grown. Together they had three kids – their son Gunner Trace, or as we tease him, GT, was born in 1992 and is now thirteen, I think; their daughter, Lilly Cassandra, who was born in 1993 and is now twelve; and their youngest son, Garrett Aidan, named for the child Brad and Wendy lost, was born in 1995 and is now ten. Brad continues to run J & J Enterprises along with my father, Tony, and lives in Malibu with his wife and youngest kids," Ally finished.

"So… Paige has how many siblings?" Rachel wondered, struggling to wrap her mind around the concept.

"Chris, Garrett Keith, and Claire are full blooded siblings. Garrett died soon after he was born. Gunner, Lilly, and Garrett Aidan are her half-siblings, because their mom is Debbie. And her step-siblings are Travis and Carolyn, who are the children from Debbie's first marriage. Deb severed all ties with her ex-husband and her two kids now have the Newbern surname. So she's got seven, but since the baby Garrett died, she's got six."

"How utterly confusing."

"Don't even get me started on the step- and half- cousins," she threatened. "If you'd like to have a scope of just how _big _this family is, consider this. Wendy Knox came from a family of four, and had four children. Her mother, Sharon, came from a family of six. And Wendy's great-grandmother Lita came from nine, and her husband Roy came from a family of eleven. And that's just _one _branch of Paige's family tree."

"So is that where Jared fits in, then?"

"Yes," Ally said, nodding. "Good. Sharon has three sisters and three brothers. The middle brother, Peter, is Jared's father."

"I'll remember this eventually."

"Good luck with that."

They were quiet for a minute, sipping their water. Rachel was looking discreetly between Sam and Ally, wondering at the stony silence the couple was displaying and also the fact that Allyson wasn't wearing her engagement ring.

"So, uh, have you decided what to name the twins yet, then?" she hedged, noting how Sam's head snapped up in her peripheral vision and his fork stilled halfway to his face.

"No, not yet," Ally said absently, trailing her finger around and around the lip of her glass. "It's up in the air at the moment. I've got a few in mind. Levi's even helping." She smiled suddenly at the mention of the almost-two-year old. "He's so excited to be a big brother. All he talks about is how he gets to be like his cousins. He wants a little brother _so _badly."

"What does he want to name them?" she asked, lips curving into a smile at the possibilities.

Ally grinned. "Well, he really, really likes Woody, because then he'll be like the character in Toy Story, which is, you know, his _favorite _movie," she said. "He'll tell you that matter-of-fact, too, if you ask." She glanced at the clock and frowned. "LEVI! Time to take your medicine!"

"Medicine?" Rachel parroted as Levi came charging into the kitchen, detouring towards Sam the second he saw him with an excited cry of "DADDY!" Rachel excused herself and left to search for her fiancé.

"Hey, you," Sam greeted the boy, scooping him up one armed to nuzzle his cheek. "Mmm, you smell good."

Levi daintily sniffed Sam's shirt and promptly giggled. "Smeh horsey," he announced, wrinkling his nose.

"Well, _you _smell like flowers," he countered, nuzzling his cheek again.

"Noooooo!" Levi protested, horrified, eyes wide as he stared up at his father.

"Just kidding. You smell like baby oil."

Levi puckered his lips, brown furrowing in thought. Ally lifted him out of Sam's arms and set him gently on the counter, kissing the wrinkle between his brows and rubbing noses with him. His forehead was cool now.

"What's wrong with him?" Sam asked quietly from right behind her. She jumped and spun around, having not heard his approach.

"He had a bit of a fever around lunchtime," Ally said as soon as she recovered. "I gave him some Tylenol a few hours ago, and was going to give him some more now. Hopefully he'll be fine by tomorrow. He's been coughing and wheezing a lot, too." She measured out the amount with the little cup and watched to make sure Levi took all of the grape-flavored liquid.

"Yum," Levi grinned, holding the cup up. "Movie?" he asked hopefully.

"Yep," Ally assured him, lifting him down off the counter. "We'll be right in, buddy."

Levi raced off to the living room again to join the rest of his family. Ally paused in the doorway to look at Sam, standing silently where she'd left him. "You coming?" she asked softly, eyes scrutinizing his expressionless face. His eyes were filled with pain, and she found her feet taking her across the kitchen until she wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. "Still with us, Sam?"

His arms constricted around her, resting his cheek on the top of her head and exhaling slowly, letting the tension flow out of him completely. "Yeah, I'm still here," he promised.

"Good."

The living room lights dimmed just as they entered. There was one couch and two loveseats angled around the giant television. Dean and Paige were curled up together on one of the loveseats, her cheek resting on his chest, his arm around her waist. Jared and Rachel were similarly cozy in the other loveseat, while all four of the kids were piled onto the giant couch, curled up in their warm cocoon on blankets and fluffy pillows.

Ally sat down on the unoccupied part of the couch, reaching over to ruffle Sammy's hair and laughing when her nephew stuck his tongue out at her. She glanced over to make eye contact with Paige, who rolled her eyes in reaction to her son's antics. Dean's eyes were closed, his head resting on the fluffy pillow he was leaning on.

"Daddy, do I still get my surprise tomorrow?" Owen asked suddenly as the opening credits for _Toy Story _started.

"Yes, Owen," Dean replied, not opening his eyes.

Satisfied, the kids settled back to watch one of their all-time favorite movies.

xxx

Paige blinked and jerked awake, startled, squinting up at Dean, who was leaning over her. She glanced around to find Sam passed out on the couch and the kids not in sight.

"Hey, you fell asleep," he whispered as she sat up. "The movie's over. I put the kids to bed."

"Oh," she mumbled, rubbing her eyes. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me," he ordered softly as he bent down to kiss her. "They're my kids too, you know."

"I do know, actually," she retorted, getting slowly to her feet. "I happen to remember your helping me create them. And then having to carry them around for nine months and squeeze something the size of a watermelon out something the size of a grapefruit. Fun times." She rubbed her eyes. "What time is it?"

"Eleven fifteen."

"Wow."

"I know. I'm exhausted." He puckered his lips. "I think it's my bedtime."

She snorted and followed him up the stairs. Already in her pajamas, it was simple for her to just curl up on her side of the bed while he disappeared into first the closet and then the bathroom. He emerged ten minutes later, water dripping down the contours of his bare chest. She recognized the fatigue coming off him in waves, and by the time he settled into bed beside her, he could barely keep his eyes open.

"You okay?" he mumbled, reaching out for her in the darkness. His warm fingers brushed her hips, pulling her gently back against him. "Did the boys behave today?"

"The boys were great," she replied, absently tracing patterns on the arm he'd wrapped around her. "We just hung out outside and played games and went to Jay's for lunch with Jared and Rachel."

"Sounds fun."

"It was. We missed you today, though."

"Likewise. Long drive without you to keep me company."

Paige smiled at that and shifted into a more comfortable position, evening out her breathing. "Go to sleep, Dean," she told him quietly, closing her eyes.

"Doctor's appointment?"

"Tomorrow at one."

Warm lips pressed tenderly against the nape of her neck. "G'night, love," he said, and before she could even reply his breathing evened out and his entire body relaxed into sleep, just like that.

She followed him into oblivion.

* * *

**Thunder Creek, Wyoming  
**Friday March 31, 2006 – 3:23 am

"_I need you to stay in here and be very quiet, okay?"_

"_Momma, what's goin on?" he pleaded, holding tight to his baby brother as his mother settled him gently in the corner of the closet. "I'm scared."_

"_Don't be, sweetheart," his mother soothed, running a hand through his hair. "You just keep Nicky quiet, okay? Can you do that for momma?"_

_He nodded, pulling his baby brother half into his lap. "Where you goin?" he whispered, holding tight to her hand, not wanting the door to close._

"_It's going to be dark, sweetheart," she whispered back, bending down to kiss both he and his brother on the top of the head. "Mommy's going to go downstairs, okay? You just say in here and be real quiet. The quiet game. Whoever says quietest the longest wins."_

"_Okay," he whispered brokenly, not understanding why his heart was pounding._

_Her hands settled on his face, grip almost painfully tight, her thumbs swiping across his cheeks as if memorizing his face. "I love you, baby."_

_The door clicked shut behind her, and he was alone in the closet with his baby brother._

"_Don't worry," he whispered against his brother's downy hair. "I got you. It's gonna be okay."_

_Time passed. The closet was dark and so, so scary. There was only a beam of light for underneath the door, and it was an itty bitty sliver. He knew his brother was asleep, but he stayed awake, eyes glued on the space beneath the door, waiting for his mommy to come back and tell him that he won and could have ice cream with Nanny Sally after dinner._

_But she never came. Instead, something crashed against the door with slamming force, rattling the air and making both of them whimper in terror. Two more strikes, and the door flew open to reveal a tall man dressed in a business suit, his yellow eyes gleaming evily._

"_Well, now, why are you two hiding? It's time to come out and play!"_

Owen snapped awake, his chest heaving, his heart pounding a frantic beat inside his chest. He glanced quickly around his room, arms constricting so tightly around his teddy bear Coco – a gift from Dean – that the bear's head was distorted. Everything was normal. The closet was closed, and his soccer-themed room had nothing out of the ordinary. His rug was exactly as it had been before, his toys were piled neatly in bins, his dresser stood as a silent vigil beside the door with his soccer nightlight beside it, giving a very soft yellow glow to his surroundings.

He rolled right out of bed, his feet getting tangled in the bedspread so that he tumbled face-first to the floor, only Coco keeping him from banging his nose. He kicked himself free frantically, flashing back to the dream, and stumbled to his door, yanking it open.

And promptly closing it again.

The hallway was pitch black.

He glanced to the top of his dresser, where the plastic thing said 3:23. He wasn't sure what that meant, but guessed it was early cuz he couldn't hear his mommy in the kitchen downstairs and knew she probably wouldn't be up for a long time still. He took a few shuddering breaths.

Daddy and mommy were at the end of the hall. Maybe, if he asked super nice, they'd let him crawl up in bed with them. But the hallway was long and super dark and maybe if the yellow eyed guy grabbed him he wouldn't be able to scream loud enough and then he'd have Brody easily.

Dean would want him to be strong. His _daddy _would want him to be strong, because that's who Dean was now. So he carefully eased the door open, judged the distance down the shadowed hallway, and made a mad dash down the hall, fumbling with the handle a minute before sprinting across the room to the bed. He clamored up onto the chest thing at the foot of bed, but his foot slipped and he knocked one of the items off, which made a metallic thud as it hit the floor.

There was a sudden movement and a flash of silver. "Who's there?" a cold, menacing voice demanded.

"D-Daddy?" he squeaked, and the silver glint disappeared. A light clicked on, blinding him, and he squinted against it, clutching harder at Coco. His eyes focused in an instant, to find his daddy laying with the covers at his waist, propped up on one elbow and peering at him with a confused expression. His mommy was also looking at him, concern wrinkling her brow. He noticed that they were nestled together so that mommy's back was resting against daddy's tummy, and her belly was peeking out from her shirt. He longed to burrow into the warm space between them and feel safe again.

"Owen, baby, are you okay?" Dean asked gently, seeing the obvious terror the four year old was displaying and the tear tracks down his cheeks. "What happened?"

"Nightmare," Owen hiccupped, trying to keep his hands from shaking.

Dean lifted the blankets up and put some distance between him and his wife as Paige rolled over and held her arms out.

"Come on, baby," she encouraged, and he bolted across the bed, stumbling in his haste, a strong hand reaching out to brace against his chest and steady him before he wiped out on Paige's stomach.

"Easy, dude," Dean murmured as Owen burrowed into Paige's arms, curled into a super-tight ball to compensate for the lack of room her baby bump presented and shaking so hard his teeth clacked together. Dean clicked the light off again and pulled the comforter back up to cover the three of them, settling himself as close as physically possible to the warmth of his wife and child. His hand reached out, resting on their baby, before moving to rest instead on Owen's back and rub soothing circles.

"Y-Yellowed eyed guy was going to hurt Brody," he sniffed, snuggling into his mommy's embrace and relaxing further when his daddy's hand started rubbing his back.

"Nobody is going to hurt Brody, Owen," Dean promised quietly, rubbing a hand quickly through the boy's hair.

"Just go back to sleep," Paige soothed, kissing his forehead. "The monsters won't bother you as long as daddy and mommy are here."

"Daddy?" Owen whispered after a long and peaceful silence.

"Hmm?" a sleepy grumble inquired, his arm stretching across the small space to rest at his wife's back, effectively trapping the boy protectively and securely between them. He kissed the top of Owen's head and his wife's forehead.

"Is today Friday?"

"Yeah, Owen. And you get your surprise later. So go to sleep now."

"Okay."

Dean waited for Owen's breathing to calm and level out before he, too, allowed himself to sleep with the comfortable weight of his knife beneath his pillow and his family by his side.

xxx

Paige awoke at her normal time of five forty-five to find them in the same position as they'd been a few hours ago. She smiled and quietly watched her husband and son sleep, faces relaxed and breathing deep as they slumbered in blissful abandon. Here, like this, Dean's face looked so much younger than normal, to his true age of twenty-seven. His eyelashes were a dark sweep against his pale cheeks, dark circles smudged under his eyes.

Owen was sleeping with his body wedged between the two of theirs. Dean's arm was slung across both her and their son, his relaxed hand resting on the small of her back. Owen's left arm was curled upwards so that his loose fist rested under his chin, fingers brushing his cheek, and his right arm was resting on his stomach, his little hand a warm weight on her baby bump. Owen's head was tucked under Dean's chin, his cheek pressed against the base of Dean's throat. He looked better than he had last night – poor little guy had been as white as a ghost – his cheeks a normal pink color. And together the both of them looked so sweet and relaxed and innocent that she really wished she had a camera in hand to capture the image.

The four year old might not be theirs by blood, but he had blonde hair slightly lighter than Sammy's, and hazel eyes similar to Dean's, just with blue and brown mixed with the green, instead of brown and gold. His face promised to be rugged in adulthood, already represented by the slant of his eyebrows, the line of his strong nose, and the chiseled cut of his jaw. She suspected that his full lips would be the subject of many a daydream later on in life, much like Dean. And besides all that, now that he was in her life, she couldn't imagine it without him.

All she could hope for was that he wouldn't freak when the social worker who'd contacted her early yesterday afternoon came for their first scheduled visit next Tuesday. Although, in all honesty, it was a little late for him to be going anywhere else – he already called them "mommy" and "daddy", and referred to Sammy as "little brother" and Sam and Ally as "aunt" and "uncle", heck, even referred to Jared and Rachel as such, as well as Noah and Michael. And Brody had become Brody, and in Owen's mind he was now Owen and not Matthew anymore.

There was a familiar sensation on the back of her neck and she looked up to find Dean's eyes open and watching her.

"Like what you see?" he murmured jokingly, half-smirking.

"Wouldn't have married it if I didn't," she replied, just as softly. Their faces were only a few inches apart so she wasn't surprised when his lips moved with hers in a gentle kiss.

"Don' t you have a surprise for a certain someone today?"

"Mmm, I do," he admitted. He carefully eased away from Owen and stood, stretching so that his joints popped and relieved all the tension in his still-exhausted body. She watched with appreciation as his muscles rippled in all their glory, partly for her benefit, she was sure. "I'm gonna go take a shower. I'm meeting Jared at the barn at six fifteen to get the surprise started." He winked and disappeared into the bathroom, the shower starting moments later. He finished with that and emerged fully dressed, bent down to kiss her again and more thoroughly now that his teeth were clean, and straightened, settling his black Stetson on his head.

"I'm going to go milk the cows and get the eggs," he told her before disappearing out the door.

She lay in comfortable warmth for a few minutes while the clock neared six. "Mommy?" Owen said sleepily, rubbing his eyes and looking up at her.

"Good morning, sweetheart," she replied, kissing his forehead. "No more nightmares?"

He shook his head solemnly, tucking his face under her chin.

"Want to come help me make breakfast?"

Owen brightened slightly at that, though he was still far from being awake. She compromised by giving him a piggy back ride, his chin resting on her shoulder and arms hanging down over her shoulders.

"Where we going?" he wondered as she veered left and away from the stairs.

"To get Aunt Ally and Uncle Sam out of bed," she replied, reaching out to open the door. Ally was already putting her hair up in an easy ponytail and shrugging on a tank top big enough to compensate for her belly.

"Morning," she greeted them, smiling. "Sam's on the couch," she said by means of explanation for Sam's obvious absence. Together, the three of them headed downstairs to the kitchen, where Paige sat Owen up on the island and the two women started mulling about in the kitchen. Dean appeared with a pail of Milk and a pail of eggs, setting them on the table before pecking Ally on the cheek, kissing his wife for a third time, planting a kiss on the top of Owen's head, and grabbing his work gloves off the rack beside the door.

"I'm off to feed the circus," he said, tipping his hat. "I'll be in soon. Don't forget it's Friday, so Ty and Chuck are eating breakfast with us, too."

Paige kissed him again, just long enough for the feel of his lips to make her toes curl. "It's been a tradition since I was eleven, Dean," she sighed, patting his cheek. "Now off you go to feed my horses."

Dean gave her a slap on the butt and grinned cheekily before hurrying out the door before she could retaliate.

"That man…" Paige muttered as the grabbed the pail of milk and eggs.

"Is a sarcastic smart-a …amateur," Ally finished lamely as she remembered Owen was sitting on the Island quietly grading cheese.

Paige snorted. "Nice," she said, elbowing her friend. The pair worked in familiar quiet, occasionally chattering while they went about making the usual food.

Sam appeared in the kitchen doorway, rubbing his eyes sleepily. "G'morning," he greeted them sleepily. "Where's Dean?"

"Feeding the horses," Paige replied, cracking eggs into the pan. "So how sore are you?"

Sam smiled, though his expression was more of a grimace of pain. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Ouch."

"Tell me about it." Sam sighed and moved across the kitchen to hold his fiancé's face in his hands, bend down, and proceed to attack her lips with his.

"Yuck," Owen mumbled, making a face and looking away. He looked up at his mom. "Why are you guys always _kissing _each other? It's yucky."

"That's what you do when you love somebody, buddy," Paige said, tweaking his nose. "So are you ready for your surprise today?"

Owen nodded, excitement creeping forth. "Is it gonna be awesome?" he wondered.

"With your dad, awesomeness is pretty much guaranteed," she assured him, lifting him down. "Why don't you go get dressed so you're ready to go after breakfast?"

That was enough to send Owen racing off up stairs. Right then, Ally and Sam pulled apart, Sam smirking cockily and heading for the coffee pot, Ally looking stunned.

"So, uh, how was that lovely wakeup call?" she wondered, tone dry and eyebrow raised. "Enough tongue action for you?"

"Hello, hypocrite much?" Ally replied, voice just as dry as she recovered her wits. "And good morning to you, too, Sam."

Sam made a noncommittal grunting noise from his perch at the table, absently flipping through the newspaper searching for an interesting story.

"Can you go get the kids up and ready?" Ally called over her shoulder.

Sam set his coffee cup down, story forgotten. Any chance to redeem himself, he'd take in stride. "Sure," he said instantly, standing despite the extreme pain the moment caused. He hadn't been this sore since the Navy-SEAL type training his dad had put him through at age fifteen. He bounded up the stairs two at a time to do just that.

"You're sending the mushroom head to get three kids ready?"

Paige and Ally both jumped, whirling around to find Connie seated in the space Owen had just vacated, a pinch of graded cheese making its way to her mouth.

"Well, good morning, Connie," Paige said dryly. "Phone call?"

Connie shrugged. "When you can teleport anywhere, what in the heck is the point of a phone? Waste of time, really." She smiled. "So, you never did tell me what you wanted me to do with the target you asked me to find."

"Ah, about that," she said, turning the heat off the scrambled eggs and moving them back a burner, sprinkling them with shredded cheese and covering the pan. "Sam's in the need of a serious wake-up call. Think you could work your… charm… and get his mind convinced he needs to come here for a visit? And before you ask, I think we both know how he'll react to being teleported everywhere."

"Badly," Connie amended, nodding in agreement. "Can do. And my reward?"

"Free breakfast."

"Sweet. But I'll pass. There's something I have to do." And Connie disappeared as suddenly as she'd come.

"We need to put a bell on her or something," Ally grumbled. "And what was that about?"

"I asked her to find John. She did."

"What about John?" Sam said as he re-entered the kitchen with a grinning Levi on one hip and half-asleep Brody on the other.

"Oh, nothing, just my Marine cousin," Ally covered smoothly. "Jonathan. He's coming today. I'm super-excited, I haven't seen him in almost a year and a half, he's been in Iraq with his unit."

"Oh, cool," he commented before diverting all his attention to the kids.

"Nice save," Paige mouthed, grinning.

Ally winked, and the two of them returned to cooking.

Paige glanced down when she felt a hand tugging at her pants to find Brody standing there, using them as leverage to stay standing. "Hey, bubba," she greeted him, bending over to kiss the top of his head. When she straightened again, however, she noticed something dismaying.

"What?" Ally said as soon as she saw her best friend's face. She mimicked what Paige was doing and suddenly was dismayed as well, the both of them standing facing each other looking down at their feet.

Dean entered to find the scene and hurried over to his wife's side. "What's wrong?" he demanded, looking between the two pouting women.

"Aww," Paige sighed, lower lip jutting out. She looked up at Dean, to find his gaze slightly panicky. She pointed to the ground in explanation. "I can't see my toes." He relaxed visibly, rolled his eyes, and laughed.

"Me, either," Ally mumbled, hands on her hips. "Why'd I have to get pregnant with twins, anywhoo? I'm going to be twice your size by month eight."

"That's why chicks pregnant with twins get bed rest. Have fun with that."

"Why do you always have to be so bitchy…"

"Shut up, you know you love it," Paige bantered back, rolling her eyes.

"Oh, it's really cute. Until someone gets a concussion."

"That was that _one _time, Allyson, and just because Jeremy doesn't duck fast enough does not make it my fault."

"It was too!"

"You swung a guitar at his _head_!" Paige protested, laughing. "How's that my fault?"

"He chucked a toaster oven at me! What was I supposed to do, throw the fridge?"

Sam and Dean looked back and forth between their partners, trying to keep up with the conversation. "You got any idea, Sammy?" he wondered.

"Not a bit. What the hell are they talking about?"

"Heck," he corrected. "And I have no clue."

Breakfast was a busy affair, as usual, especially with Ty and Chuck joining it. Owen was dressed up in full cowboy regalia in preparation for his surprise, which Dean personally thought was adorable. He was proudly wearing John Bradley's old ropers and the brand-new brown leather Stetson they'd bought for him after the dinner in town a few nights back.

Dean was excited to see Owen's reaction. Ty and Chuck excused themselves as a truck pulled up out front and Jared's voice was heard through the open window. "Ready, buddy?" he said, looking down at Owen and settling the Stetson on his head. "Comin', Sam?"

"Yeah, yeah. Riding lessons. Woo." Sam put his plate in the sink as the women herded the younger kids upstairs for clothing and diaper changes.

Owen stayed close to Dean's side as he opened the door to the porch and descended the steps.

"Hey, bud," Jared greeting him, holding up a hand that Owen slapped a hard high-five at. He crouched in front of him and flicked the end of his hat. "Ready?"

The four year old nodded excitedly and followed his daddy, Uncle Sam, Uncle Jared, Ty, and Chuck around the big truck and towards the arena. There were three horses tethered inside the massive ring. He recognized Sergeant easily.

"There's my horse, Sergeant," Dean said, pointing, as he opened the gate. All three horses looked over at them, ears pricked for the promise of exercise and treats afterwards. "That big palomino is the horse Uncle Sam's going to be riding, Donas. And this paint pony, here, is named Patch."

"Patch?" Owen repeated as he was led over to the docile looking brown-and-white splotched pony. He held his hand up, which Patch sniffed and snuffed at, before nuzzling his hair and whickering softly.

"He's yours," Dean said, beaming down at him.

Owen's eyes flew wide, a huge grin spreading across his face. "Mine?" he gasped, looking up at the docile paint with awe and love. "Really, daddy?"

"Really," he promised. "But since he's yours, you have to take care of him. Ride him, lunge him, turn him out, feed him, clean his stall, all of it. This is the gift mommy and I got you for your birthday."

"But my birthday's not for a few weeks."

"Well, it's close enough. Consider Patch an early gift." His heart warmed at the happiness the almost-five-year-old was radiating. "So, do you want to ride him?"

Owen nodded excitedly.

Dean reached over and untied the reigns from the fence, leading Patch into the center of the ring. "Alright, first, you have to put the reigns over his head, like this." He demonstrated, and had Owen repeat the motion. "This is the stirrup, where your feet go. Don't ever take your feet out of these." He waited for the nod before moving on. "Now, to mount, you put your left foot in the stirrup, grab the saddle horn and the seat, and swing up onto his back. Patch is too tall for you to do that now, though, so we'll use the fence."

As soon as he was in the saddle, Owen sat wide-eyed, feet in the stirrups, reigns clutched in both hands.

"One hand, buddy," Dean instructed, showing Owen how to grip it. "To get him to turn left, you pull the reigns over so that they touch the right side of his neck." He did so, and Patch sidestepped to the left. "It's the opposite if you want to go right." He did so again, and Patch sidestepped right this time, ears flicking back and forth as he listened to Owen's commands. "Now, Patch is sturdy, buddy. He won't ever bolt or rear or try to buck, so you can learn on him and maybe compete with him. He's a good horse."

Owen was grinning now, more comfortable in his position. He could hear his siblings and cousin the outside playpen, and spotted his mommy and Aunt Ally on the fence line. Jared and Ty and Chuck were sitting on the fence watching as Sam mounted, followed by Dean, who was pleased to see Owen was waiting for further instructions and Patch was waiting calmly for a command.

"Just wait there, okay?" he called, and Owen nodded, reaching forward to gently pat Patch's neck. "Okay, Sam. I want you to do four laps of fast walking to warm him up, and then do some trotting and then I'll adjust all your seating issues."

Sam didn't argue, just nudged his horse awkwardly to circles around the arena.

Dean nudged Sergeant to a trot and halted him beside Patch. "Okay, buddy. Now just give him a super-light tap with your heels." Owen obeyed, and Patch moved forward into a smooth and steady walk. "Just get a feel for it."

Owen nodded again, looking up at him. "Daddy, this is awesome," he declared, grinning hugely.

He nodded agreement. "That it is, son," he said, patting him on the shoulder. He watched Owen as he rode. He was relaxed and comfortable, completely trusting in the fact that he was right beside him in case something, anything, went wrong. He sat up straight and tall, arm held out so that his elbow rested on the saddle horn, mimicking the pose he was in currently. His heels were down slightly and his legs snug against Patch's sides.

He knew another natural when he saw one.

Jared was saying the same thing to Paige as they passed by. He heard the telltale clicking that meant Ally and Paige both had their cameras out, but was having too much fun to care.

"Can I trot, daddy?" Owen asked hopefully, squinting up at him.

"Let's wait for Uncle Sam." They halted their horses until Sam came around the turn, Donas going at a steady trot, just as Dean had instructed. He was wincing each time his butt hit the saddle, his savaged muscles still tight with tension and soreness.

"And…now," Dean said, tapping his heels to Sergeant's sides twice and setting him off at a smooth and comfortable trot, keeping a watchful eye on Owen as Patch did the same. He bounced up and down like any other rider would, his hips relaxed and absorbing the movement and momentum instead of sitting still and stiff like Sam currently was.

"See that, Owen," he said, pointing to Sam. "That is how you _don't _want to ride."

Owen giggled, finding that the trot was a lot of fun and not too bouncy to sit.

"Sam, for the millionth time, _relax your hips_, let them move with the movement of the horse. Lower your hand, too, you're pulling on his bit, that's why he's prancing every fifth step."

Sam struggled to do as Dean instructed.

"Hey, Jared, want to take over for me with Sam?" Dean called. Jared nodded and jumped down off the fence, having Ty help him lower the trailer ramp so that he could offload his giant chestnut gelding Scout. The gelding was already tacked up, making it easy for Jared to just swing into the saddle and head into the ring, Ty closing the gate behind him.

"I'll take the back half with Sam," Jared said as he trotted by Dean. "I'll just have him do circles and work on saddle position and hand position and stuff like that."

Dean nodded agreement. "Pull Patch in a big circle now, buddy," he ordered Owen. Owen did as he asked, using Dean and Sergeant as a focal point, as they were halted in the center of where the circle needed to be.

"Can I canter, daddy?" Owen called as he passed by on another loop.

"Go for it, bud, but be sure to grip with your knees and down into your seat so you don't fall, okay? Give him a cluck to get him going."

Owen clucked expertly, and Patch was gliding around the arena in a smooth canter, the boy on his back laughing joyfully, free hand thrown wide to catch the breeze. Dean grinned at the freedom in the scene and the budding love between the boy and his horse.

Sam watched his nephew and felt a bit of jealousy rise… the kid was a dang natural, while he looked like a crash-car dummy strapped to the saddle, and Dean and Jared were friggin experts who didn't even need reigns or a saddle, really.

Dean dismounted and led Sergeant over to the fence, removing his saddle and blanket and setting them on the fence. "Time for some bareback work, buddy," he sighed, using the fence as a mounting block to settle himself on the stallion's broad, warm back. He nudged Sergeant to a canter and did circles with Owen, while the onlookers watched in awe at the grace and horsemanship being displayed by the two cowboys and the young boy.

"You proud, Paige?" Ally asked, grinning hugely. "Who'd have thought that boy had amazing horse sense?"

"Well, I guess he gets it from his daddy," Paige said with a warm grin, watching her husband and eldest son working together. "Dean will be hard pressed to keep him out of the barn, now. If he's anything like me, Owen's going to want to sleep in the barn with him tonight."

xxx

At one, Paige and Dean left for her appointment, leaving Sam and Owen in the capable hands of Jared, Ty, and Chuck. It was a short drive, where they chatted about how easily Owen had taken to horses, and about how they hoped Sammy and Brody would be the same, because horses were amazing animals whose friendships lasted a lifetime.

By the time they actually got into the room, both of them were a little jittery, and not without reason.

Paige fidgeted on the table, partly because she had learned to hate hospitals in the last year, and partly because she was terrified what the tests were going to show. Dean was sitting beside her, his hand wrapped around hers, offering reassurance. The both of them were terrified… this was the test that would tell them in greater detail if their unborn son had suffered any damage as a fetus from Paige's ordeal.

Dean's heart was pounding unevenly and he felt hot all over. If he hadn't learned to control his emotions, his hands would be shaking. Sure, he might be terrified on the inside, but he wasn't about to show that to her, because she was already pale. He stroked his thumb down her wrist, resting it on where he knew her pulse was. It was racing even faster than his, which he knew wasn't good for Jace.

He pulled her into his side and kissed her forehead. "Relax, love," he whispered, rubbing his hand up and down her arm.

"I'm scared, Dean," she whispered back, hiding her face in his neck.

"There's no reason to be scared until we know for sure," he said, trying to reassure them both. All the same, he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply to try and relax. "Besides, Amy said the tests we did before came out normal. So we've got nothing to be worried about."

Paige bit her lip and took a shuddering breath. "Dean… there's so much that could go wrong…"

"Don't think about it," he insisted. "I think Brody's sick."

"Me, too. He felt hot when I put him to bed last night, but he seemed a little better this morning. I gave him some Tylenol. I think he got it from Levi. He hasn't been feeling well lately, either. Did I hear him crying or was I imagining things?"

"He started crying at three fifteen. I got up and found him coughing up a storm. I gave him some of that cough medicine and held him until he fell back asleep," Dean told her. "He asked for you more than once. He said momma. I heard him, loud and clear. He called me dada, too."

"Did he really?"

Dean nodded and smiled. "Sometimes I feel like I'm dreaming. That was one of those moments."

She groaned and leaned her forehead against his temple. "You're distracting me," she accused.

"Damn straight. Seriously, though, honey. Take a deep breath."

"I already did. It didn't help."

"Well, why– "

The door swung open and Amy entered, her hair tied back in a bun and lab coat rumpled. "Hey, lovebirds," she said as she pulled her stool over. She smiled to reassure their wary expressions. "Well, I've got some good news and some bad news."

Dean's heart plummeted straight to his toes. He felt cold all over and unconsciously pulled his wife into his side. He watched while Amy pulled X-Rays and ultrasound pictures out of a file and started clipping them to the light board. His sister-in-law remained strangely quiet through the process.

Paige wasn't too surprised. There'd been a feeling of dread in her being for a few weeks now, since the nightmares had escalated. It was a slight comfort to be so tightly held against her husband's side. She looked down when she felt heat on her stomach to find Dean's broad, long-fingered hand resting protectively over their unborn son. She rested both her hands atop his.

"What's the verdict, Ame?" she said.

Amy re-claimed her seat and tucked her clipboard under her arm. "Well, to start, I'm sorry to say that the ultrasound of the baby shows abnormalities in the heart area that weren't there at the last ultrasound."

"Abnormalities?" Dean repeated in a croak. His mouth was as dry as cotton balls and his throat felt like sandpaper.

Amy stood and gestured at two ultrasound pictures. "This here is a normal heart at the beginning of the third trimester," she explained, circling the heart with her index finger. "And this here is Jace's heart. If you see here, you'll notice his heart is actually smaller than it's supposed to be at this point. I'm afraid that it might be some sort of heart disease. Given all that you've been through, Paige, I'm wary to run invasive tests, but as of now…" she trailed off, shrugging. "I just don't know, hon. I don't know, not for sure."

"So what are you saying?"

"He very well may grow out of it in the womb. As far as I can tell, I would guess it's a very mild case of congenital heart disease."

"Congenital heart disease?" Dean repeated, voice rough and uneven. He held his wife closer, icy fingers of dread spreading through his body.

Amy nodded and tucked her clipboard under her elbow. "Congenital heart disease is thought to happen because of incomplete or abnormal development of the fetus's heart during the earliest weeks of pregnancy. It's possible – rare and unlikely, but possible – for him to grow out of it before he's even born," she explained.

Paige breathed a shaky sigh of part relief, part helplessness. "Rare?"

"It all depends on him, now," the doctor said gravely.

"So…the good news?" Dean croaked.

"Paige's tests all came back normal. Everything's healed up nicely. I'm confident that there's going to be no further complications." Amy looked her square in the eye. "But honey, you're blood pressure is higher than it should be. Not in the danger zone, but higher than it was at last week's checkup. Have you been having nightmares again?"

"I…" she trailed off, wincing at Dean's pained expression. "Yes," she admitted. "They usually happen the second or third night Dean's away."

"Screaming and thrashing?"

"Sometimes. Noah stayed with me last time, so they weren't as bad."

"You need to find a way to lessen the effects of those, Paige," Amy said seriously, eyes sad. "It's not good for you, and it's not good for Jace, either."

"I'm working on it."

"Okay. Well, you two are free to go."

And the two parents left, reeling from the news that their baby was possibly sick. Dean decided on the stop that he was going to talk the baby to death, to convince him that it was against the rules to be sick. Maybe it would work, maybe it wouldn't.

But he was going to demand healthiness from his unborn son.

He just prayed Jace wasn't as stubborn as he was.

xxx

Paige's assumption was correct. Owen begged and pleaded all afternoon until, finally, they agreed to set up a cot for him in the corner of Patch's stall and keep a dim lantern hanging so he wasn't in complete blackness.

"Are you sure about this, Dean?" Paige demanded, worried about her baby sleeping out here all by himself.

Dean kissed her. "Paige, quit worrying so much. Patch isn't going to let anything happen to him. Besides, you know as well as me that this will bond them together strongly." He pulled her into his side as Zeus and Percy trotted by, curling into balls on the mats at the front of Patch's stall, so that they were between the cot and the door. "Look, hon. He even has his two bodyguards."

Owen race up, dressed in pajamas and holding tight to Coco, a huge grin on his face as he raced up to pat Patch's shoulder.

"Okay, honey, Ty and Chuck sleep in the rooms up in the loft if you need anything, okay?" Paige said, kissing his cheek. "You have a fun sleepover." She rubbed the paint's forehead. "And you keep watch over my boy, okay?"

Patch snorted softly and nuzzled her cheek as if to reassure her that Owen would be fine.

"Goodnight," Owen said cheerfully, crawling under his blankets. "And thank you. This is the best present I've ever gotten."

"Love you buddy," Dean said, kissing the top of his head and patting Patch's neck.

"Love you, too."

They headed back inside, leaving Owen in the barn to sleep with Patch, to find Ally in the kitchen with Levi, Sam's voice carrying from the living room, where he was talking to Elliot and Jared. Sammy and Brody were there, as was little Abby. They were, from the sounds of it, discussing the party set to happen tomorrow. The knowledge of Jace's heart problem was a heavy presence in the room.

Levi was pouting and holding his hands up, chanting, "Agua, agua!"

"Levi Joseph, some patience, please," Ally said as she opened the fridge. She grabbed the milk and a sippy cup and started pouring it.

"I thought milk was _leche_," Dean pointed out, confused.

"It is," she replied as she screwed the top of the sippy cup on. "He calls water and milk both agua. I've tried telling him that milk is leche, but he insists on calling it agua." She handed her son the filled sippy cup. "Leche, Levi," she said clearly, still holding onto it.

"Agua," Levi stubbornly persisted.

Ally sighed and shrugged. "He'll get it eventually," she said, releasing the sippy cup and watching him race off into the living room. She followed after him, leaving Paige and Dean standing in the kitchen.

"I'll be in the other room if you need anything," she said quietly, following her best friend. Someone knocked on the front door, and he automatically headed towards it.

"Got it," he called so no one else would get up. He strolled to the door, whistling Metallica as the thoughts of the doctor meeting whirled around in his head. Unlatching the door, he turned the knob and pulled it open.

And almost had a goddamn heart attack.

"D-Dad?" he stammered, eyes going wide to find his father standing calmly on the porch steps, hands stuffed deep in the pocket of his leather jacket and a warm smile on his face.

"Dean," John replied, dipping his head slightly.

Dean moved across the space to hug him, startled but pleased when John hugged him back. "Where have you been?"

"That's for another time, son," the weathered hunter replied softly. "Brad told me what Sam's been up to. I need to talk to him. Right now. I don't have a lot of time."

"Dad, let me help you," Dean pleaded helplessly. "Let _us _help you. This demon, we can kill it together, we – a "

John was already shaking his head. "Like I told you over the phone a while back, Dean, it's too dangerous. This thing… it's more evil than I ever even imagined. And there's a bigger picture here, Dean. There's some huge plan going down, something monumental, and I think we're stuck in the middle. But until I find out the particulars, I don't want my boys stuck in the crossfire. This is my fight." He held his shoulders. "You're my son, Dean, and I'm so proud of you for all the hunting you've been doing with your brother. But trust me, you need to spend as much time as you can, here with your family. Okay?"

Dean nodded, understanding. He knew better than anyone that if his dad wanted him out of it, it was for a damn good reason. Not because he viewed him as weak or incompetent or a failure, but because he knew something that they didn't and planned to keep it that way for their protection. It was the same reason that none of his own children currently knew about demons or spirits or any of that – he wanted them to retain that innocence for as long as physically possible. Longer than he had, anyway. Four was far too young to be shoved into all this shit.

"I understand," he said, tucking his hands in his pockets.

"I knew you would," his father replied, expression relieved. He rubbed his stubbled chin. "May I come in?"

"Sure, of course." Dean stepped aside. "Sam," he called. "There's someone here to see you."

Sam came in, afraid it might be one of his college friends bringing grave news, and stood shell-shocked when he saw his father. "Dad?" he said, incredulous.

"Can we step outside for a moment, Sam? We need to talk," John said without preamble.

He looked to Dean, who nodded ever so slightly. "Uh, sure," he said, following his dad out the front door and into the yard.

"Congratulations on your engagement," John began as soon as he was seated on the porch steps, elbows on his knees. Sam sat beside him, a million questions going through his head. "I know you have a million questions to ask me right now, but I explained in part to Dean. I don't have a lot of time, but I do need to talk to you about something in particular."

Sam seemed surprised at this turn of conversation, but didn't argue. "How did you…?"

"Brad," he said, shrugging easily. "He's one of my normal contacts."

"I saw his name in the journal."

"I used to bring you boys by here a lot while you were growing up. Remember Roy?"

"Of course I remember Roy," Sam said, smiling at the memory of the kind ex-hunter. "We stayed here tons." And then it dawned on him and he spun around to look up at the towering ranch house. "Oh," he realized. "So that's why it looked so familiar. I never put two and two together in my head."

John nodded. "The Newbern, Knox, and Baraldi families have been good to us. I expect you to return the favor."

"I will, dad, don't worry."

"Ally is a special girl. That's why I'm here."

"You…want to talk about my sex life?" Sam repeated, eyebrows raised. "Look, dad, uh…"

"Not your sex life," John cut him off, rolling his eyes. "I'm here to talk about something else. Can you guess?"

Sam frowned at him. He'd never seen this side of his dad before, and it was sort of starting to freak him out. He lifted his shoulders into a shrug and waited for his dad to elaborate.

"Revenge."

He cringed inwardly at the word and shifted uncomfortably. It all made sense now. He should've known that Brad knew everything about these parts, and of the hunting grapevine in general.

"I've lived over half my life trying to avenge your mother's death," John began, staring off over the rolling plains. "Her death tore me apart inside. I became obsessed with finding her killer, and with hunting everything I possibly could along the way." He looked over at his son, his eyes swirling with sadness, loneliness, and pain. "I've saved people, yes. I failed to save others. I've killed the bad guys and given people new hope. But in the long run, Sam, I did something I'd never wanted to do, ever."

"That being?" he said bitterly, looking away from his father's conflicted expression.

"I hurt the people I love," he said gently. "I hurt you, I hurt Dean… I hurt Bobby, and Ellen, and Jo, Caleb… all of my friends along the years, my brothers, whom I fought with side-by-side. I let my pride get in the way of everything else. I let the revenge consume me. The only moments of peace I have are the dreams I occasionally have of your mother, before all of this shit happened."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Dean acts like me, dresses like me, listens to the same music, drives my old car. He fights like me, he walks like me, he talks like me. But do you know who he reminds me of the most?"

"No."

"Your mother. Your brother is a rare person, Sam. He would go to hell and back do help the people he cares about. All he wants is a family, to be surrounded by people who love and care for him. And I can see it in his eyes every day how much he misses Mary. The two of them… they were so close. From the second he was born, he became the most precious thing in her world. She loved him freely and without abandon, and in so doing, taught Dean how to love. Your brother… he's like a candle flame. He'll burn you if you get too close, but being around him infuses you with a never-ending wave of heat and warmth. His love is solid, steady, unwavering; his loyalty is complete and he gives it without asking anything in return.

"And, I'm ashamed to say, there are times when I've abused this knowledge to suit my own ends. That was wrong. Dean is like your mother, plain and simple. But you, Sam – you're like me," he finished, rubbing his hands on his pants. "I look at you, and I see myself twenty-two years ago, right after your mother died. Angry, pissed at the world, itching to kill, for revenge. And that, son… that is what tore me apart bit by bit, until there was nothing left of the man I used to be."

Sam looked at him, frowning. His father never got touchy-feely, really. He was all hard-ass marine. But now… he'd never seen this side of his father before. "I…"

"Don't try to deny it, Sam, I'll see right through it. You have a second chance here. I had one of those, once, and I screwed it up royally, something that I regret to this day. But you… you have that beautiful woman in there, who bore you a son and loves you despite the fact you once left her, and who is blessing you with more children. She _loves_ you, Sam. It's about time you woke up and started returning that love. If Jess was anything like your mother, she would have been ecstatic to see you move on, being happy in honor of her memory, because that's what she would have wanted."

"You didn't even know her," Sam said angrily, looking away.

"I know enough about her, Sam. You loved her. I get that. But sometimes… you just have to let her go. It took me twenty years to let go of your mom. Don't make the same mistake." He nodded over his shoulder. "Your brother loves you, his family loves you. Ally loves you, and so does your son. Is that not enough for you?"

"I…" Sam trailed off, burying his face in his hands. "I don't know what to do, dad. All these visions and stuff, it just…. I feel like I'm becoming someone else entirely."

"Stop that feeling, then, before it consumes you. Keep your humanity. Love that woman with everything you have left, Sam, and trust me – it will heal you." He stood and brushed off his pant legs. "At least think about it. Can you promise me that?"

"I'll think about it," he sighed, rubbing his forehead as he struggled to comprehend the advice John had just dumped on him.

"Now, there is one more thing I'd like to do."

"And what is that?" he mumbled sarcastically, standing and brushing himself off as well.

"Would you and your brother be against me officially meeting my grandsons and daughters-in-law?"

Sam blinked, surprised. "Of course not," he said instantly. "Why don't you come inside and sit down, and we can show you all the photo albums. Believe me, it's not quite the same, but… it's close enough."

"I'd like that, Sam," John said, his eyes suddenly watering. He followed Sam into the house, where Dean was standing guard in the hallway, waiting to see if their faces were bloody or not.

"Everything okay?" Dean asked anxiously, looking between their haggard faces. It was clear to him they'd just had the deepest of all deep conversations. Not butting in, he put a hand on both of their shoulders. "Feel better now?"

John smacked him gently upside the head. "Is it okay with you if I meet my grandsons?" he wondered.

"That has got to be the stupidest thing I've ever heard you say, Dad," Dean said, laughing. "Of course. They're in the living room. Come on."

The room was scattered with people, many of them faces he recognized. He shook hands and smiled at both the girls.

Paige and Ally returned the smile, stepping forward to hug him tightly, saying "Hey, Uncle John," in perfect unison.

"Uncle John?" Dean repeated, shocked.

"We saw him constantly while we were kids," Ally explained. "He was always coming by for information, both to my house and to this house."

Paige picked up Sammy and settled him on her hip. "Sammy, do you know who this is?" she said, pointing to John.

"Hi, gampa," Sammy said, smiling shyly.

"He knows who I am?"

"Yeah, we've shown him pictures and he saw you last time you visited, remember?"

John held his hands out and Paige passed the baby along. He felt emotion surge unbidden through him at the feel of such a little boy in his arms again. He squeezed him gently and kissed the top of his head. Love flowed through him and towards this precious little blonde-haired, green-eyed angel. "Hey, Sammy," he said roughly.

Sammy grinned, his eyes sparkling.

He was hooked from that second onward – because those were Mary's eyes. Dean's eyes. And they sparkled with the same strength that his wife and his son had shown him on a daily basis. And when a second weight settled in his other arm, he laughed outright.

"Well, hi there," he said, rubbing noses with the brown-eyed toddler, noting his mop of dark hair. His face was almost a carbon-copy of Sam's at that age. "You look just like your daddy. What's your name?"

"Levi," the boy replied shyly. "Are you gampa?"

"I'm your grandpa John."

"Daddy?"

John nodded. "I'm your daddy's daddy," he confirmed.

"And this, Dad," Dean said, a new baby in his arms and his hand resting on the shoulder of a blonde kid who looked to be about four and who was dressed in pajamas, "is Owen and Brody, our other sons."

"Adopted?" he mouthed, sitting down on the couch.

Dean nodded and passed the baby along as well, while Owen raced over to jump up beside him, his expression excited at the prospect of another grandpa.

"I'll go get those photo albums," Sam promised, disappearing.

This, John decided, was heaven.

All that was missing was Mary.

xxx

_Later that night_

John left about an hour after arriving with pictures of his grandkids tucked into his wallet, waving goodbye as he again disappeared, not to be seen or heard from again for quite a few more months.

Dean and Paige were upstairs getting the kids ready for bed and Sam and Ally were curled into a porch swing softly talking about their twins while Levi played with the dogs on the lawn in front of them, already in his pajamas.

"Shut up," Ally laughed, lightly smacking him. "That was the lamest movie ever."

"How can you dis any of the Superman film and cartoon shows? He's awesome!" Sam protested, shocked. "Christopher Reeve was amazing!"

"Those movies are totally corny," she insisted. "And the flying scenes are so _fake_."

"It's from forever ago, hon, what did you expect? Expert CGI effects, or him to be pulled through actual skyscrapers?"

"Duh. Like _Jurassic Park_."

"_Jurassic Park_!" he exclaimed with a bark of laughter. "LAME!"

"It is not!" Ally protested, expression fierce.

"Dude, you could _totally _tell those dinosaurs were robots."

"Could not!"

"Could to."

"Well, what about Jaws, then, huh?" she snapped.

Sam laughed outright, stomping his feet against the ground and throwing his head back as the laughter consumed him. "Same thing!" he wheezed, wiping a tear from his face. "Oh, man, you have horrible taste in movies!"

"You shut up, or you're sleeping on the couch!" Ally threatened.

"Oh, uh-huh," Sam said smugly, unfazed by her threat. "What movie are you going to point out next?"

There was a strange wheezing noise and the dogs started barking frantically, racing up the steps and biting Sam's pant legs, trying to pull him down.

"Zeus, get off!" Sam shouted, trying to dislodge from the dog to no avail; he was dragged straight off the swing and down the stairs. It was then that he noticed. "LEVI!" he screamed in unison with Ally.

His son was laying in the grass, clutching his throat, his face turning blue while a horrible choking-rattling-wheezing noise came from his throat. His eyes rolled back and his entire body went lax.

He wasn't breathing.

* * *

E/N: Woo! A dramatic cliffhanger! Well, there you have it, folks. Like I said above, next will cover Benders and maybe Nightmare… not sure yet, I'll decide when I get there. Hope you enjoyed. :)

If y'all give me 5 reviews again… I can have the next posted in four days!

As always,  
**REVIEWS = LOVE  
**(And the more I love you, the faster I post! :D)


	30. Chapter 30

A/N: Hey, guys. As usual, thanks for the lovely reviews! You are all awesomely amazing!

And I am SO SORRY for taking so long to get this out… it's been crazy with last-minute summer stuff and starting my senior year. I got a 1st period so I'm up at five thirty every morning and unfortunately passed out by eight, so I haven't had a whole lot of time to write…

From now on I will most likely be posting on weekends… and if it's super-long breaks between, please be patient! I'm taking a really hard science class and I have a feeling it's going to be the majority of my homework. Considering it's Physio-Anatomy, that's not exactly a good thing, but okay…

Disclaimer: I only own my OC's… so lawyers, no suing, please. That would make me cranky.

* * *

**Chapter Thirty  
**We're So Cursed: Part I  
Loving Chaos

Ally and Sam were beside him in an instant, Sam scooping him up and running into the kitchen with Ally hot on his heels.

"PAIGE!" he roared as loud as he could, and not two seconds later, Dean exploded into the kitchen, shotgun in hands, Paige right behind him.

"What?" Dean bellowed. "What's wrong?"

Paige shoved past him, gasped, and rushed to Sam's side, looking down at Levi. "Asthma attack," she said instantly. "Sam, get him upstairs! NOW!"

Sam did as ordered, racing up the steps and following his sister-in-law into her and Dean's master bathroom, where she immediately filled a tub full of steaming water.

"Take his clothes off, Sam, now," Paige ordered, checking the temperature, and assessing it was about as hot as he could stand it. She took Levi from him and lowered him into the tub, scrubbing his skin with her hands and being sure to keep him upright in a sitting position so that breathing would come easier. "Somebody call an ambulance, this is bad. Dean, go." Dean raced off to grab the phone, while Ally stood clutching Sam. "Sam, come help me rub his skin. We need to get as many of the allergens off as possible. Ally, come hold him upright. Soothe him and try to get him to stop fighting the wheezing. Try to get him to just relax and breathe. He doesn't understand what's happening to him right now and is in a state of sheer panic."

"Why isn't he breathing?" Sam choked, trying to be as gentle as possible while he rubbed his son's skin.

"His breathing might be affected by allergens, if it's what they call atopic, but I can't be sure without proper testing." Her relatives gave her blank looks, not understanding the medical lingo. "Just rub his skin to try and remove them. The warm water will also hopefully help to relax him so he stops fighting the wheezing," she ordered, exhasperated. She needed to get them in a medical course of some sort.

"Ambulance is inbound," Dean shouted from down the hall. "They're hauling ass out here." He appeared with the phone to his ear. "Yeah, yeah, chill out, lady. We got him in the tub already and we're rubbing his skin. Anything else we can do?" he demanded into the phone, all business. He shook his head at his wife's questioning expression. "We're doing everything we can," he mouthed.

"Mommy?" a small voice asked from the doorway. Paige turned to see Owen standing there with his arm over Sammy's shoulders, both of them scared.

"Dean," Sam urged, "get them out of here."

Dean obeyed without arguing, herding the boys out the door. They heard the door bang open downstairs and Ty and Chuck's raised voices, having heard all the shouting and seen Levi collapse. Dean begged them to watch his sons before heading back upstairs. He made it into the bathroom just in time to see Levi take a long and gasping breath, his chest rattling horribly and the exhale a shaking wheeze.

Time seemed to pass in infinite slowness. They continued to rub at Levi's skin and scrub his hair, hoping to calm his overloaded and shocked system. Eventually the whine of a siren could be heard in the distance. Everyone in the room begged silently for the ambulance to hurry it along already.

The door banged open again and Ty's voice directed the paramedics upstairs, and not four seconds later, men appeared with a portable stretcher and neck brace.

"What happened?" the taller of the two asked, his face was familiar but Dean couldn't place it to a name.

"Eric, about damn time," Paige grumbled, moving sideways to give him room. "Asthma attack. He's wheezing, he has a fever, and he's barely breathing." She rattled all this off as Eric snapped on gloves and gently peeled back Levi's eyelids to check for pupil response with a small flashlight.

"Nil," Eric said tensely, lifting the boy out of the tub as his partner Ian Forrester ushered the parents away. They scrubbed him dry, dressed him quickly, and strapped Levi to the stretcher, put an oxygen mask over his face, and started speaking quickly in medical jargon nobody but Paige understood. In a flash, they had him lifted and were rushing him downstairs with Ally and Sam hot on their heels, following the paramedics into the ambulance to sit beside their son. At the moment, the worry was his erratic heartbeat, his poor respiratory effort, and his obvious exhaustion and panic.

"He's breathing," Eric said as the doors closed with a slam, closing off the image of Paige and Dean standing on the porch, he with her tucked tightly into his side, their expressions grave. The ambulance raced off, bouncing down the drive, until the couple faded from sight to be replaced by the empty blacktop. "Barely. But he is breathing. Is he allergic to anything that you know of? That may be the cause of this attack. Until we get him to the ER, I won't know for sure if it's asthma or not," he asked.

Ally racked her brains, trying to force the words past a throat frozen in terror. "Uh… uh…" she stammered at first, before gathering her wits. "P-Peanuts. He's deathly allergic to peanuts. And bee stings, soy products, mold, walnuts, shellfish, lupins, sesame, and sulfa drugs. A-And…a-and…" she put her hand to her head, closing her eyes in concentration. "Red dye numbers two, three, and forty, as well as yellow number six."

Eric blinked at the long list of allergens. "He's deathly allergic to all of these?" he pressed, shocked despite his four years as an EMT.

"No, no," she said adamantly, shaking her head, the pressure of Sam's hand on hers lending her strength. "Just peanuts." She nodded confirmation. "Only peanuts. I keep an epipen with me at all times." She produced it from her pocket as proof. "The rest he's mildly to moderately allergic to."

"Okay, and is there any chance that this asthma attack was caused by some sort of anaphylactic stimulation?"

Ally shook her head fiercely, reaching forward to grasp her son's tiny hand in hers. "I keep peanuts away from him at all times," she said softly in a broken voice. "I don't even buy stuff near peanuts at the grocery store." Her eyes filled with tears as she looked up at the kind-eyed EMT. "Help him," she pleaded. "Please."

"Miss Baraldi, we're doing everything we can," Eric assured her while his partner continued to work on the toddler. His calm green eyes and kind expression helped to soothe the couple and keep their wits together. "He's breathing, so that's a good sign. Now I need you to think really hard for a second. Do you recall him coughing, wheezing, anything like that in the past few days? Any fevers, rashes?"

"Yes," Sam said, glad to be offering some information. "He was sick…uh, yesterday, day before? He had a fever and had been coughing and wheezing. Ally gave him Tylenol that morning and again right around the time my brother and I got home that night, I want to say about seven, maybe? We put him to bed and his breath sounded like it was rattling slightly, but that was only for about thirty seconds before it evened out to normal, so we thought nothing of it. And then today we were sitting on the swing talking, watching him play, and he just…he just…" he gestured helplessly at his son's lifeless form, his voice shaking. "He just _fell over_, clutching his throat, and he was all blue and n-not breathing, and…"

Ally ran her hand through his hair, continuing to grasp at Levi's lifeless hand. "He's gonna be okay," she said in a hopeless tone, smoothing the hair back from Levi's forehead. It broke her heart to look at him – his skin still had a blue tinge to it, his lips were entirely blue and his eyelids were flickering weakly. "What's happening? Why isn't he breathing?"

"How long have you noticed the wheezing and coughing?" the EMT pressed, noting the still-erratic heartbeat and failing respiratory response.

"Four, maybe five days," the young mother replied, tears streaking down her face. "I thought it was a cold." She covered her mouth. "Oh my God."

"Miss Baraldi, I need you to stay calm, okay?" Eric broke in, hands settling on her shoulders. "He needs you to be calm, because if you aren't, he's going to panic even worse and will most likely cease breathing all together." He took a deep breath. "And the rattling? How long have you noticed the rattling?"

"A-A day, maybe two," she sniffed, wiping her eyes. "He got tired easily and his eyes were all glassy. But then it would pass and he'd be fine, and it would be hours before it happened again."

The EMT nodded, piecing it all together in his head. "If I was to make an educated guess based on the facts I have now, this would be my explanation," he began as Forrester administered a drug called glucocorticoids to help his breathing. "We've administered a drug called glucocorticoids, which will lessen swelling to his airway and help the breathing. Judging by his cyanosis, I would assume that this is an acute asthma attack. His blood pressure is much lower than it should be and his oxygen saturation is far below normal levels. They'll be able to treat him better as soon as we get him to the ER. There's a doctor waiting out front for us."

**A/N: "Cyanosis" is when you are starving for oxygen and start turning blue… it's a big word, I know. Just think of it like I mentioned before. :) Also, if you were curious, asthma is classified as an auto-immune disease, meaning that it's the body attacking itself. Hence why it's potentially fatal if untreated. *grins* I love Physio-Anatomy... you should really take it at your HS if it's offered.**

"Okay," Sam said, nodding agreement. "Is this life-threatening?"

"As soon as we get his breathing under control, everything should go back to normal. They'll have to give him a prescription inhaler and they'll give you detailed explanations on how to handle the problem." Eric turned to look at the boy, taking a quick look at his vital signs. "It looks like the medication is working already, his breathing is becoming more steady." Right as he said this, the ambulance came to a halt and the doors flew open, Eric's partner handing the clipboard to the waiting doctor – a familiar face, because it was Pete.

"What is it with you Winchesters?" Pete sighed as they lifted the gurney down and wheeled it into the emergency room. "Take him to room three-o-eight," he ordered, jogging beside the boy, taking out his stethoscope as the gurney was wheeled expertly into the room. "Ally, Sam, wait outside please," he said. The EMT's left the room as soon as Levi was transferred from their gurney to the hospital's, and closed the door behind them, effectively shutting of sight of the almost-two-year old.

Ally clutched at Sam, and he clutched at her. "He'll be okay," Sam whispered, rubbing his pregnant fiancé's back. "Levi's tough, he'll make it through."

"Oh, God, Sam," she whimpered, burying her face in his chest. "Our baby's in there."

"He's a Winchester, Ally. We don't go down without a fight."

xxx

Lisa Knox was strolling across the ER, effectively dodging gurney's and frantic doctors and the interns with their classic deer-in-headlights expressions. She snickered at them, as panicked people never ceased to amuse her. She stopped at the nurse's station, dropping her stack of binders and patiently waiting for the woman at the desk to finish scribbling her frantic notes.

"Can I help you?" the ER nurse asked in a rushed manner.

"I have the charts of two patients released from the ER today that somehow got mixed up with us up in the ICU," Lisa said with a smile, handing them over. "I also need the charts of the two gunshot victims who came in here earlier today and who are being transferred to the ICU pending surviving their surgeries."

The elderly nurse dug around for a minute before handing her what she'd asked for. She smiled at the woman and took her leave, happening to glance down the hallway she was passing and freezing in her tracks, almost causing the intern behind her to crash into the gurney beside them in his haste to get to wherever he needed to be.

"Slow down!" she chastised as he ran off frantically, arms full of bandages and syringes. "Interns," she muttered, rolling her eyes. She then set off at a speed walk down the hallway. _I swear to God, that looks like Sam Winchester. What the heck is he doing here?_

She quickened her pace, dodging yet another bloody gurney (Friday nights were busy in the ER), and as she got nearer she realized that it was, in fact, Sam – she'd recognize those massive shoulders anywhere – and beside him, Ally, who's stomach was indeed starting to show now.

"Sam, Ally," she called out, and as she did so, they whipped around, both of their faces streaked with tears. She dropped her charts on a forgotten gurney and enveloped her friend in a hug. "Oh, Al, what happened?"

"Levi had an asthma attack," Ally choked out. "He wasn't breathing, Lisa."

"Okay, okay," she soothed her friend, rubbing her back. "Don't worry. We're good at dealing with those. He'll be fine." She took a second look at their tearstained faces and sighed. "I'll be right back." She slipped into the room, squeezing back against the window. "What's his status?"

"Unknown," one of the interns squeaked.

Pete smacked that intern upside the head. "Keep your mouth shut if you don't know what the hell you are talking about, how many times do I have to tell you that. He's stablilizing," he scolded. He looked up at Lisa and frowned. "What the hell are you doing down here? Don't you belong in the ICU?"

"And don't you belong in the surgeon wing?" she retorted, crossing her arms and lifting an eyebrow. "Last time I checked, you're not an ER doctor."

"Can it, Lisa," Pete said tiredly, bending over his young charge again. "Cyanosis is fading," he announced to the room at large, glancing every three seconds at the monitor to check blood pressure and pulse. "His heart rate is stabilizing."

"Blood pressure stabilizing," one of the nurses said, her hands flying over the child's body.

"How's his peak flow?" Pete demanded, stepping back to allow the other's to do their job.

"Fifty-five percent and rising fast," Lisa announced, stepping forward to read the data. "Do you know his oxygen saturation?"

The door banged open and a harassed-looking intern came in. "Just got his allergy test back," he gasped, swiping a hand across his sweat-beaded forehead. "No sign of allergic reaction or anaphylactic shock."

"Sixty-nine percent peak flow," Lisa said clearly, taking out her stethoscope to listen to his breathing. "Respiratory effort is good. Heart rate is stable."

"Patient is stable," Pete said with a relieved smile as Levi's eyes fluttered. "Somebody go get his mom so he stays calm when he comes to."

Lisa sped off to the waiting area, waving Sam and Ally forward, smiling as they leapt up and raced over. "He's stable," she explained. "He's waking up. Go on in."

Ally and Sam breathed a sigh of relief and entered the room to find only Pete standing at their son's bedside.

"Hey there," Pete greeted them with a smile. Ally ignored him and raced over to her son, putting her hand carefully on his sweaty forehead.

"Mommy," Levi whimpered, trying to take off his oxygen mask.

"No, baby, leave it on," she crooned, kissing his forehead. "It's okay."

"How is he, doc?" Sam demanded, one hand resting on Ally's slender shoulder, eyes fixed on his squirming boy.

"He's stable. I want to keep him on oxygen just a little longer until his oxygen saturation gets normal. He had an acute asthma attack, which leads me to believe he's probably been having smaller ones leading up to tonight, a suitable explanation for his coughing and wheezing." He rubbed his face tiredly. "He's going to be fine, Sam. Don't worry."

Sam visibly relaxed. "So what can we do?"

"I've prescribed an inhaler for him to use. Whenever he seems really short of breath or is wheezing a lot, he will need to use it to prevent another such attack." Pete pulled a chair over and sat opposite to Ally, on the other side of Levi's bed. Sam sat down beside his fiancé, his expression panicky while hers was simply concerned as she soothed her upset baby. "I would also recommend warm baths several times a day. It will help keep the allergens from settling on his skin and irritating his lungs."

"Does your son have asthma, Pete?" Ally asked suddenly, glancing up at him to smile briefly before looking back to her sleepily blinking son.

"Yes," Pete replied, a little surprised she knew about it. "Yes, Ally, Simon has asthma about as bad as this little guy. We handle it with his inhaler, bathing him in warm water several times a day, and I've also found that using unscented goat's milk lotion and soap helps, because it's gentle on his sensitive skin."

"How old is he?" Sam asked, grateful for the distraction for his frantically whirling thoughts.

"Four. We just found out about four months ago. Thank God he was with me at work, here, when he had the attack."

"And he's okay?"

"He is now. He's starting soccer tomorrow."

That put Sam's mind at ease. They sat there and chatted quietly for a while, Ally calling Paige and letting her know that everything was okay. After about two hours, Pete was satisfied that Levi was a-okay to head home, and the two parents gratefully signed the release forms.

Sam momentarily left Ally to sign their son out and headed over to the pharmacy on ground level to pick up Levi's inhaler. He pulled out his phone to call Dean while the pharmacist was in the back.

"Hey," he said as Dean picked up.

"_Hey,_" Dean replied. _"How's Lee?"_

"Levi's fine." For some reason, his brother using Paige's nickname for his son irked him. "Can you come and pick us up at the hospital?"

"_Sure,_" Dean replied. "_Look for the dark gray Yukon."_

"Dean, Levi needs his car seat," Sam protested, indignant. "Can't you bring Ally's?"

Dean laughed outright. "_I could, if she'd left her keys," _he chortled. Sam palmed his face and grimaced, grateful Dean couldn't see his face or he'd be teased for a week. "_Dude, are you forgetting my son is all of a month older than yours? I think Sammy's car seat will work just fine."_

Sam didn't have any reply to that except to thank him. By the time he got back up to the pediatric wing Levi was getting a sucker from the nurse behind the desk. He stuck it in his mouth and laid on Ally's shoulder, rubbing his sleep-fogged eyes and wrapping an arm around her neck. Ally kissed him right above his ear and rubbed his back.

"Ready to go home, Levi?" Ally whispered, slowly twisting from side to side, hoping that he'd fall asleep and momentarily forget the scary events of tonight.

"Yesh," Levi mumbled around his sucker, his eyes drooping closed.

"Yes?" she questioned, smiling at the baby-word.

"Yesh," he repeated sleepily.

"Sam?" she whispered, nodding downwards.

Sam wordlessly eased the sucker out of his son's mouth and dropped it in the nearest trashcan. He settled a hand on Levi's head, smoothing his mussed hair. They headed down the elevator to the ground floor and then stood outside the hospital.

"It's cold out here," Sam realized, glaring up at the sky and shrugging out of his light sweatshirt. He draped it over Levi's sleeping form, making sure to tuck it around his tiny shoulders.

"It is," Ally agreed, glancing up at the sky. "We've got a couple good snowstorms left before summer."

"Snow? In this warm weather?" Sam seemed surprised. "When does spring officially start here?"

"After the last snowstorm," Ally said with a grin. "Spring is short in this part of the west, and so is summer."

"That stinks," Sam sighed, surprised at the amount of cars going in and out of the parking lot and almost ten in the evening. "I'm just glad Levi is okay."

"Me, too," she replied with a shaky breath, unconsciously pulling her son closer in the protection of her arms.

They chatted softly, watching the cars zipping in and out of the parking lot, and the occasional ambulance coming in from the surrounding towns. It was about fifteen minutes before a charcoal gray Yukon XL turned into the parking lot and halted right in front of them, the tinted window rolling down to reveal Dean in the driver's seat.

"Hey," he said as he unbuckled and got out, closing the distance between him and the couple in three strides. His eyes were worried and his face haggard with exhaustion and stress. "How is he?"

"Good," Ally said, smiling up at her brother-in-law. "It was an acute asthma attack. We have an inhaler and medication for him to take, and special soap to use in his baths, so hopefully he'll be okay from here on out."

Dean smiled in relief. "That's good to hear," he said, relieved. "Well, the boys are already in bed, except for Brody. He's cutting some more teeth and is screaming his head off at the moment, so…" he rubbed his face. "Let's get you three home, yeah?"

"Yeah," she agreed, carefully shifting Levi in her arms. Dean opened the door as Sam got into the passenger side seat. As soon as she saw the car seat, though, she frowned. The straps were weird.

"Here, I'll take him," Dean said as soon as he recognized her confusion, easily lifting the baby out of her arms. He strapped Levi quickly into the car seat and stepped aside to let Ally sit down next to her son. He closed the door behind her and got back in the driver's seat to drive them home.

Dean was quiet for the entire drive back home, eyes on the road. For once, the radio was silent, allowing Sam and Ally to chat quietly.

"Are you going to give him a bath?" Sam asked, head leaning back on the headrest and eyes closed.

"No, I'm going to put him to bed," she replied. "I'll give him a bath first thing in the morning."

"But Pete said he needed at least three baths a day," he protested, eyes snapping open. He spun to face her, his furious eyes meeting her calm and level ones.

"Pete is right, but Levi has been through enough tonight, Sam," she retorted evenly. "I'm not going to give him a bath when he's flopping around like a limp noodle. It's almost three hours past his bedtime."

"But…" Sam sputtered, finally sighing when he realized that Ally wasn't budging. "Alright."

Ally smiled and met Dean's eyes in the rearview mirror. They shared a quick smile before he returned his eyes to the road. She rested her arm on the top of the car seat and stroked her hand absently through her son's hair. She was dozing by the time the car halted in the garage and Dean killed the engine.

"Dean, how do I undo this?" she wondered, hands hovering over the straps. Levi was completely dead to the world, his head resting on the side of his car seat.

Dean twisted around, his arms easily reaching the car seat and undoing the buckles and clips. "There you go," he said as he got out of the car and headed inside, leaving Sam to help his wife with their son. He found Paige in the living room with a screaming Brody cradled in her arms, while she bounced him up and down and swung him gently to and fro, attempting to soothe him.

"Hey," he said tiredly, rubbing his eyes and putting a hand on Brody's head. Paige looked up at him and smiled faintly. She looked exhausted, and understandably, seeing as she's been up at five this morning. "Want me to take him?"

Paige kissed the top of his head and handed the almost-one-year-old over to her husband.

Dean grinned down at the upset baby. "Hey, you," he said, lifting him up to blow raspberries on his stomach. Brody's tears ceased but his expression remained stoic, the tears still wet on his cheeks and his eyes watery. "No tears allowed." He settled the baby on his shoulder and stuck his finger in the baby's mouth, gently feeling along Brody's gums, searching for the cutting tooth.

"Are they cutting yet?" Paige said tiredly as she lowered herself to the couch, exhausted.

"Yeah," he replied as Brody started to scream again, writhing in Dean's arms. "Do you have a teething ring?"

"In the freezer," she mumbled in reply, her eyes already drooping shut as she slumped on the pillows.

Dean huffed in annoyance, then rubbed his face and wished his son would stop screaming. He really didn't mean to be annoyed with his wife – he was just tired and grumpy, and now, annoyed because Brody was screaming in his ear. His hand was on the freezer handle when Sam walked in carrying a bag of Levi's stuff he'd put in the back just in case Levi had to stay overnight.

"Where's Ally?" he asked absently as he opened the freezer and stuck the teething ring in Brody's mouth, immediately quieting the screaming baby.

"Out with Levi. She needs a minute. This scared the hell out of both of us." Sam got a glass out of the cupboard and filled it in the sink, gulping it down without taking a breath. As he spoke, the door opened and Ally appeared with Levi asleep on her shoulder.

"I'm off to bed. Goodnight," she said in a whisper. Sam bent down to kiss her goodnight, and Dean averted his eyes to Brody instead, who had a line of drool sliding down his chin that he quickly wiped away before it dropped onto his shirt.

Sam put his cup in the dishwasher and sighed contentedly. "How do you do it, Dean?" he asked suddenly.

Dean looked up from making funny faces at Brody, startled. "Do what?" he wondered, shifting Brody to the other arm to give it a rest.

He gestured at the easiness Dean displayed holding the squirming, fussing one year old. "That. Be a dad."

"Just takes practice, Sammy," he confessed with a shrug. He thought about it for a moment, searching for a better answer. "I wasn't ready for Little Sammy to be born, you know. I was freaking out, actually. And not completely in a good way. I was panicked. I worried about whether he would like me, if he would like classic rock, if I would be able to change diapers; I even worried that he would scream every time I held him.

"It's terrifying having a child, Sam. But you know… he was born, and then he was here and I couldn't be afraid anymore. I just had to _do _what was necessary. And eventually, you learn all the little things."

"Like what?"

Dean shrugged again and bounced Brody gently, nuzzling the baby's cheek. Brody was getting sleepy and was resting on Dean's shoulder, eyes half closed and sucking on his teething ring like a pacifier. "You learn how to burp them, and that special way to soothe them so they stop crying; how to rock them to sleep and make them smile when they're upset about something. With me, I just… I do anything and everything to make that little boy feel happy and loved. That all three of them do." He smiled. "Don't worry, Sam. You'll figure it out. It's a bit overwhelming at first, but you'll get the hang of it."

Sam didn't look convinced.

"Dude, come on. If _I _can do this, you can totally do this. You always wanted to be a normal Joe, anyway." Dean gestured broadly to encompass their surroundings. "Welcome to a part-normal-Joe life. Not wholly normal, but about as normal as it's gonna get for us."

His shoulders relaxed, soothed by his older brother's reassurances. "Thanks," he said gratefully. "I guess I'm off to bed, then. See you in the morning." He paused in the doorway, hand on the wall. "What time does the party start tomorrow?"

"One."

Sam nodded and disappeared up the stairs.

Dean sighed and leaned back against the counter, rubbing his son's back and twisting soothingly from side to side. "About ready for bed, little man?" he whispered, pressing his lips to his son's soft forehead. He pulled his head back slightly when Brody nodded to find the young boy's blue eyes drooping shut. He carefully eased the teething ring out of his mouth and dropped it in the organized dish holder in the sink, knowing Paige would wash it in the morning. He clicked off the kitchen light and headed for the stairs.

The light in the living room was still on, so he took a quick peek inside to find his exhausted wife passed out on the couch. He smiled at the sight and headed upstairs to settle Brody to bed. His nursery was a familiar and soothing place. After checking his diaper to make sure it didn't need to be changed yet, he carefully eased his now-sleeping son out of his arms and into his crib, covering him with his "ni-nite" as it was affectionately called. As the last part to his nightly ritual, he bent down to kiss the top of Brody's downy blonde head and straightened, making sure the crib was latched properly before clicking off the lights and leaving the door cracked behind him.

Paige wouldn't notice if he took longer than usual, so he paid it no mind as he went next door to Sammy's room to find his baby asleep as well, sprawled on his stomach and sleeping peacefully. He bent down to kiss the top of his head, as well, whispering, "Love you, little man," before he eased back out of Sammy's room and across the hall to Owen's. He was pretty sure Paige would have brought him inside, afraid of something happening to him like it had happened to Levi mere hours ago. Turned out he was right – Owen was right where he was supposed to be.

Dean chuckled at the sight of his oldest son. He was all twisted around in his bed, his head at the footboard and one of his bare feet dangling off the bed from under the covers. He didn't seem to be bothered by the absurd – and by his opinion, extremely uncomfortable – position, and was sleeping like a baby. All the same, he gently lifted his son into his arms and set him back in his bed the right way, covering him in his soccer comforter and planting a kiss on his forehead.

"Daddy?" Owen said groggily, stirring slightly.

"I'm here, buddy. Go back to sleep. I love you," Dean whispered, kissing him a second time.

"'Mtoo, daddy," he mumbled before rolling over. His breathing evened out again and Dean knew he was asleep.

With a happy little smile, Dean eased out of Owen's room and quietly down the stairs to retrieve his wife. His exhausted body was all too cheered by the prospect of a good night's sleep.

…

_Saturday morning_

Dean groaned when the alarm blared in his ear and reached out blindly to slap a hand down on top of the snooze button. "Damn thing," he muttered, burrowing his head deeper into the pillow.

The familiar warm presence beside him shifted slightly. "Please don't tell me you're going to smack that damn thing fifteen times again," Paige mumbled tiredly, not opening her eyes.

"It's too early," he whined.

"Wha' time is it?" his wife said, voice muffled in the crook of his arm.

Dean reluctantly cracked an eyelid to peer at the red numbers on the clock beside their bed. He grunted as soon as he saw them. "Five thirty," he mumbled. "Fuck…too early…"

"You were the one who agreed to teach the hand-to-hand combat class every Saturday at six in the morning," his wife reminded him, the end of her sentence punctuated with a huge yawn. "And watch your mouth."

"Cranky," he protested, burrowing back into his pillow.

"Pfft," was his wife's response. "I'm the one who gets to be cranky, seeing as I'm the size of an elephant and have a baby using my bladder as a squeeze toy and ribs as a punching bag." She shot him a half-hearted glare over her shoulder. She could barely see him, it was so dark. There was absolutely no light in their room, except for the slight red glow coming from the clock.

Dean kissed a line up her arm to her shoulder. "Sorry," he said, unapologetic. He smiled when his wife rolled her eyes and burrowed back into her pillow. He dozed back off for seven minutes before the alarm blared again, making both of them groan. He smacked it a second time.

"Dean," Paige said warningly. "Class. Six in the morning. Ringing any bells?"

"No," he mumbled into the crook of her neck. Her sudden gasp made him jump slightly, though. "He's kicking you already?"

"I don't think he appreciates being woken up any more than you do," Paige retorted, lightly smacking the arm resting on her side. The next kick was so hard it shook the entire bed and persuaded Dean to grimace in sympathy. "Ouch," she said weakly. "Looks like he's going to be a cranky butt in the mornings, just like you." She rubbed the spot, wincing slightly. "On the bright side, at least he's not doing somersaults."

"He was doing those last night," he reminded her, still reluctant to leave the warmth and comfort of the bed.

"Well, I rolled onto my back in my sleep. Excuse me for my unconscious action," she volleyed back, voice heavy with sarcasm.

Dean smiled despite his crankiness. "There's the woman I married," he teased, finally sighing and turning off the alarm before it could go off again. "Alright, alright. I'm up, I guess." He untangled himself from her and sat up, not appreciating the blast of cool air to his bare chest. "I hate mornings."

"Don't we all," she yawned, sitting up as well, leaning into his side and smiling when his arm went around her waist. "I take it Brody finally settled down last night?"

"Yeah, fell asleep on my shoulder. I put him to bed. You were passed out."

She nodded. "We had a bit of a long day," she admitted, snuggling closer to his warmth.

"I'll re-set the alarm, baby," he promised. "Go back to sleep until six thirty." He nudged her gently to get her to lie back down. The one thing that worried him about her – despite the nightmares, anyway – was the apparent drop in sleep she'd had since the ordeal in The Tank. He'd talked to Rachel, and it seemed Jared was suffering in much the same way. Plus, Noah had mentioned a few times her having horrible night terrors.

She was already asleep again. He dragged himself out of bed and took a shower, only bothering with underwear and sweat pants today. Once in the kitchen, he drank a cup of coffee and whipped himself up a nasty protein shake that he chugged while plugging his nose. He hated those things – the texture alone was bad enough, without the taste to consider, too.

Then he headed over to the gym located roughly in the left corner of the ranch house's downstairs. He clicked on the lights and sighed, blinking the last of sleep out of his eyes. The mats were stacked neatly against the far wall and he started pulling them down one by one and spreading them evenly in the open space that consisted of half the room.

He pulled on his training uniform – it was kind of like a Martial Arts uniform but lighter. He hated the heavy fabric of most Martial Arts disciplines, they made him feel too heavy. He himself had acquired black belts in both Tae Kwon Do and Karate (thanks to Chris' annoying demands to take the damn classes with him) and had dabbled in bits of Jiu Jitsu (mainly Brazilian) and Krav Maga (compliments of his Marine-trained father), with a bit of other disciplines here and there. Mostly against his own will, but hey, if it saved his life later on down the line, who was he to complain, seriously?

The mats were set up by six, when the first of his students started knocking on the door. He left it cracked after that, as they all knew to head to the gym, and the knocking would wake up the kids. Before long, his Saturday morning class was assembled with Elliot and Jared as the two other teachers. They stood facing a group of thirty-one people, twenty-eight of them men, including everyone from The Tank incident (this included Cody Jackson and several other young teens) as well as older, more experienced hunters who wished to hone their skills.

"Five more than last week, Dean," Jared noted, writing down all the new names at the bottom of the role sheet. He handed the clipboard to Cody, who signed himself in and passed it along.

"Dean, you want to lead today?" Elliot said, yawning and rubbing his eyes.

Dean shrugged and stepped forward, bare feet squared on the mats. "Good morning," he said in a carrying military-type tone. They echoed him. "You are here to practice fighting skills. We are here to help you. What's the motto?"

"THE ONLY EASY DAY WAS YESTERDAY!" the class echoed in perfect unison. A motto of the Navy SEALs, it had served the purpose of training hunters well. Especially since one of the men in the room was the son of a SEAL and the other a retired SEAL himself.

"And the other motto?"

"Alone I am lethal, as a team I dominate!" the class bellowed in response. Another motto of the SEALs.

"Good," Dean replied, smiling. He walked among their ranks. "LEAN REST!"

The entire class got into lean rest position *(push up position, for those of you who don't know the military term for it). Dean walked back to the front of the class and assumed the same position, stationing himself between El and Jared.

"Fifty pushups on my count." He took a deep breath, knowing this was going to hurt tomorrow. "Down!"

"One!" the class echoed.

"Down!" He bent his arms to a perfect ninety degrees, keeping his body perfectly straight and clenching his core to prevent his back from dipping.

"Two!"

"Down!" He stood to walk among them, watching closely for any mistake he needed to correct.

"Three!"

It was going to be a long two-hour training session…

* * *

"Mommy?"

"Hmm," Paige muttered, opening her eyes to find Owen standing at the side of her bed, eyes wide. "What's wrong, buddy?"

"There are people yelling downstairs."

"It's okay, it's just daddy's class," she soothed, scooting back so he could crawl up with her, his favorite thing to do in the mornings. "He probably forgot to shut the gym door." As soon as she said it, the sound of yelling faded. "See, there you go. Uncle Jared probably just remembered to close it."

"Okay," Owen whispered, hugging tight to Cocoa and snuggling into her arms, his most favorite place in the world despite his daddy's arms and Patch's back. "Mommy?"

"What, Owen?"

"Can I ride Patch today?"

"We'll see." She sighed and turned off her buzzing alarm. "Are your brothers up?"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "Auntie Ally and Uncle Sam aren't, either."

There was a brief, content silence.

Owen rested his small hand on her cheek. "Mommy, its Saturday," he whispered.

Paige sighed and looked down at him, pursing her lips. He'd now called her 'mommy' three times in less than five minutes. "I know its Saturday, sweetheart," she mused, lips curving into a smile. She lifted a hand to run through his blonde hair, noting that it was getting long and she'd need to take him to the barber soon.

"So, can we have coffee like always?"

"Sure, honey. Come on." Paige tossed the covers back and carefully rolled out of bed, not quite able to sit up with her baby bump in the way. She reached down, elated when Owen gripped her hand and skipped along happily beside her, all the way down the stairs to the kitchen. Dean had already made a pot of decaf especially for her and Owen this morning.

"Mommy, what's that thudding noise?" Owen wondered as she dragged a chair over to the counter for him to stand on. He hopped up on it eagerly, Cocoa tucked tightly under his arm. "And that grunting." He glanced over his shoulder towards the Gym, brow furrowed with thought.

"It's daddy's fighting class," she explained, ruffling his hair. "Every Saturday, remember?"

"I remember," he said as she pulled two mugs out of the cabinet. She grabbed the coffee pot.

"Which creamer do you want today?"

"The chocolate one," Owen said with a cheeky grin.

Paige smiled and pulled out the Belgian Chocolate creamer – a favorite of both her and her boy – and the milk. She poured herself a cup of mostly coffee and a quick pour of creamer. Owen's cup she made half milk, quarter coffee, and quarter creamer. "Whip cream?" she said, handing him the can.

Owen accepted the can and gleefully proceeded to attack his cup with whip cream.

"That's enough!" she protested with a laugh, taking the can back. The whip cream was four inches tall. She laughed outright when Owen bent down to take a huge bite off the top of it, getting whip cream on the tip of his nose.

"Yummy," Owen commented, hopping down and pushing his chair back to the table, eagerly hopping onto the seat and waiting for her to hand him his cup. Paige sat beside him and set it carefully on the table, mindful not to ruin the precarious balance of the whip-cream tower.

Owen pulled the cup forward and sipped at it, expression serene. They sat like that quietly together. Occasionally there would be a grunt, a loud thud, or a shout of pain from the Gym immediately followed by raised commanding voices. It was impossible to make out the words, but the tone sounded frustrated and annoyed. It was probably Dean, Elliot, or Jared.

"Mommy, can I ask ya somethin'?" Owen asked suddenly, shifting to his knees to he could reach the table easier.

"Of course," Paige replied, watching him out of the corner of her eye. The seriousness of his young face was both amusing and upsetting. No boy so small should carry worry so great. She rubbed a hand over her swollen belly as the baby restlessly kicked her.

"What does it mean if I'm having dreams of black-eyed men?" he asked, bluntly getting straight to the point.

Her hand stilled, eyes going wide before she smoothed her face to calm. "You have dreams about men with black eyes?" she said, fighting to keep her composure. Her heart thumped unevenly when he nodded. "I'll tell you what. How 'bout we wait for daddy to be done with his training session, and then you can ask him what he thinks, too, okay?"

Owen smiled and shrugged, hugging Cocoa tight to his side. "Okay," he agreed. He looked up towards the ceiling when he heard a soft thump. His hazel eyes turned to hers, sadness radiating from him. That was a thump from Sammy's room, which meant the rest of the crew would be up momentarily. Though, hopefully, Brody would sleep in, and Levi, too.

She ruffled his hair. "Don't worry, Owen," she said quietly, bending down to kiss the top of his head. "I don't love you any less than your brothers. And I don't love them any more." She rubbed noses with him. "What's the motto?"

"I love you," Owen repeated with a shy smile, throwing his arms around her neck for a gentle squeeze. He pulled back and suddenly became withdrawn, tugging on Cocoa's ears as a distraction from looking at her. "Can I go watch a movie until daddy's done?"

"Sure, honey. What will it be today?" she wondered as she heard more movement upstairs. Knowing that she had a few moments, she led her oldest son to the living room and slid open the movie cabinet. "_Lion King_ again?"

Owen thought about that for a minute. "Can I watch _Toy Story _instead?"

"Sure, buddy." She put it in for him and dropped another kiss on the top of his head.

"Mommy," a small voice inquired from the doorway. She turned to see Sammy standing there with wrinkles on his cheeks and eyes bleary from sleep, his favorite stuffed animal clutched under his arm and eyes welling with tears. She reached down to ruffle his hair.

"Good morning, Samuel Dean," she greeted him, leading him back to the kitchen. From the fridge, she pulled ingredients for breakfast, even though it was Ally's turn. Ally and Sam had had a rough night last night, the least she could do was make them breakfast.

"Moooooommy," Sammy whined, tugging at her pant leg, tears slipping down his face.

"What, Sammy?"

"Tahomee," he cried, refusing to relinquish his hold on her pants.

"Sammy, I cannot understand you," she said briskly, inwardly sighing. It would seem that Sammy was grumpy this morning. It happened about twice a week, when he would wake up from the night or from his nap like a total sourpuss and be difficult for the first half hour or so before mellowing out.

"Tahomee!" Sammy was really crying now, and stamping his feet in frustration as he repeated the garbled message four more times.

"I cannot understand you when you whine," Paige said, looking down at her fussing child. Sammy stamped his feet again and cried louder, tears streaking down his face. "What do you want? Milk? Some breakfast?"

"TAHOMEE!" the toddler demanded, both hands clutching at her pants now.

As much as it broke her heart to do so, she ignored him and cracked twelve eggs into her giant bowl, adding some milk and cheese before whipping it all together. "Samuel Dean, I cannot understand you when you whine. Tell mommy what you want," she finally said after her son had repeated the phrase eleven more times (she was counting). "What do you want?"

"Tahomee!" Sammy pleaded, practically climbing up her pants to get to her.

"Hold you?" she guessed, honestly not really having a clue what the heck her son was trying to say.

"Yesh," he sobbed, tipping his head back to meet her soft blue eyes with his red-rimmed, tear-filled green ones.

"Stop whining, and mommy will," she promised. Immediately, her son stopped vocalizing what he wanted, instead holding onto her leg while she finished whipping the eggs and dumping them into her pan. As soon as she did that, she led him over to the chair and asked him to climb up on it. The whole bending over thing wasn't very easy on her back now that she was into the beginning of her third trimester. From the chair it was easy to leverage him into her arms above her baby bump.

Sammy was still sniffling but relaxed as soon as he was held securely in the embrace of his mother's arms. One arm supported his bottom, keeping him from pressing down on the unborn Winchester son, while the other rubbed his back in soothing circles. He stuck his thumb in his mouth and basked in her affection, knowing on some unconscious level that as soon as Brody was up, the immediate level of one-on-one with his momma would diminish slightly.

Paige kissed her son's temple, grinning to herself at how alike her husband and her son were – both were cranky in the morning and needed food within an hour of wake-up or they were akin to bears being beaten to wakefullness with clubs in the middle of hibernation. In short, extremely cranky. Even their adopted sons were starting to act like him, although, technically, the boys were still her foster children. Speaking of which, she had to remember that the social worker was coming back on Sunday. The first time, she'd come alone and when the kids were down for naps. This time, she'd be coming in the morning when the boys would be awake.

The thought scared her a little as she started scrambling the eggs and cooking the bacon, using her free hand to do all the work, the other still holding her son close. She knew that Sammy loved this morning time, so she wasn't about to complain. She'd have a hungry baby in a while, as well as a starving husband. She couldn't afford to complain. But, as she had confessed to Dean in the middle of the night last night, she was afraid – afraid that the government would take away her sons. Dean had held her tightly and told her not to worry, that no one in their right mind would be able to separate her from those two little boys. But a nagging voice in the back of her head haunted her – Chris' voice. She'd been pushing it back as of late, but it was always there, hovering in the far corners of her mind.

Though, despite the events of the last night and her worry over her fragile young nephew/godson, Ally's help was really needed at the moment. She was in her seventh month of pregnancy, and she wasn't a magic worker. Help was going to be needed more as she neared her due date.

She spared a glance towards the doorway, hoping that Ally would eventually appear.

* * *

Sam was awake most of the night. He was afraid to go to sleep, afraid that if he did, Levi would have an asthma attack while he was oblivious. Afraid that he'd have to bury his child, his precious little boy, like he'd had to bury Jess. Sleep wasn't really needed, anyway. He was wide-awake all night just watching his little chest rise and fall and watching Ally's do the same.

At around six in the morning Ally began to stir, slowly coming out of her uninterrupted sleep. She blinked and squinted at him, frowning in confusion to find him awake. And then she looked to the warm little body curled into her side to find Levi sleeping peacefully between them.

"Sam?" she mumbled. "What happened?"

"I…I was afraid he'd have an attack. So I brought him in here." Sam half-smiled and looked down at the sheets abashedly. "I just wanted to be near him." He gently ran his index finger down Levi's cheek, smiling when the boy rolled over and snuggled into his chest instead.

Ally leaned across their son to kiss him. Sam returned it, hand reaching up to caress his cheek.

"I'm so sorry, Ally," he whispered.

"For what?"

"For everything." He rubbed his thumb gently along her cheek. "I'm sorry for the way I treat you. I've decided I won't do anything like that anymore. My dad… he opened my eyes. I want to be a good husband, like Dean is. I want to be a good father, to Levi– " he put a hand gently on her stomach " –and to these babies." He sucked in a deep breath. "I just hope that…that you'll still love me."

Ally's lip wobbled and her eyes filled with tears. "I love you, Sam," she told him, framing his face in her hands. "I haven't changed my mind. I still want to be your wife."

Sam heaved a sigh of relief and grinned widely. "Thank you."

She smiled and rolled away from him, standing up and stretching, fingers massaging her stiff back. "I'm going to go help Paige with breakfast," she announced, reaching down to run her fingers through his hair. "Are you going to stay with him?"

He nodded tiredly, smiling up at her. "I regret it, you know," he whispered.

"Regret what?"

"Regret not being there. I missed so much of his life, Ally. I wasn't there for his birth." His eyes wandered to the gentle curve of her belly. "I'm going to be there this time. Every step of the way."

Ally leaned down to kiss him again. "I'd appreciate that," she said with a hint of sarcasm.

He chuckled and smacked her lightly on the butt. "Go cook, then. The kitchen is where you women belong, anyway," he teased, ducking when she tossed a pillow at him. Miraculously, Levi didn't even stir in reaction to all of this.

"Just kidding, just kidding," he insisted, holding up his hands in surrender. His amusement quickly faded to seriousness. "Ally, I do want to talk about something, though."

Ally sat back on the bed, looking down at him. His huge hand settled on her lower back, absently massaging the area. "What's up?" she sighed, not really wanting to know all the way.

"The wedding. I heard you talking to Rachel the other day. I'd like to do it in the summer, like you said you wanted to. And I'd love to do it here. This place has become special to me… it's helped to start the healing process," he explained. "And, after the wedding, I'd love to go someplace on a honeymoon, and take Levi with us."

"Sam, I'm going to be almost seven months pregnant by summertime."

"Then we can wait until after, and maybe leave the babies for a few days," he suggested. "By then, I'm sure we'd appreciate the break. I don't know, it was just an idea." He hesitated, trying to form the right statement before saying it aloud. "For another thing, as much as I love my brother, I hate to mooch off of him. Would you be against moving into a house in town? I saw a couple nice ones being built in the Town Center area."

"I would love that, Sam," Ally gushed, kissing him enthusiastically. "That was I can have my own garden and Levi can have a fenced in place to play where we won't have to worry about him getting trampled. Maybe we can even get him a dog…"

"As an additional plus, Dean won't be able to drag my ass out of bed at four in the morning and force me to work the fields with him," he added, grinning. "My ass is _still _sore. I almost fell going up the stairs last night."

"Well, I guess it's a good thing you didn't have Levi, then."

"True. I probably would have gone straight to my face if I'd had him." In unison, they looked down at their still-sleeping son. "So are we okay?"

"Yeah, Sam. We're okay." She leaned down to kiss his brow. She paused in the doorway to look back at the bed, where Sam was tenderly brushing Levi's hair off of his forehead. With a soft smile, she eased into the hall and closed the door quietly behind her.

Paige was already in the kitchen, the smells of cooking food wafting up the stairs. Most of it was non-breakfast food, though, probably for Jared's party this afternoon. She heard Toy Story in the living room and knew that it was probably Owen, since it was Saturday, the annual Coffee with Mommy day for Paige and her four-year old.

"Good morning," she greeted her friend as she entered the kitchen. The counters were littered with various bowls and dishes. She spotted pans of eggs and bacon with lids, meaning they were staying hot for breakfast. Paige stood before the stove, stirring something in a giant sauce pan, her hair up in a ponytail and flour smeared on her apron and cheeks. Sammy was in her left arm, head resting on her shoulder while he sucked his thumb, his piercing green eyes focusing on her the moment she appeared. She smiled at the boy and was delighted when Sammy smiled back around his thumb, revealing his set of sparkling pearly whites.

"Morning," Paige replied, stirring with one hand and holding her son with the other. She smiled briefly at her best friend. "I'm making the tomato sauce for the ravioli."

"Mmm, Jared's favorite," Ally commented as she pulled on an apron and joining her friend at the stove. "What do you need me to do?"

"I've got the cooking for now," she said, continuing to steadily stir the sauce. "The macaroni is in the oven, and the noodles are cooking in the pot." She gestured to the gigantean thing. "So maybe you could get on the phone and remind your family that it starts at one to one-thirty ish."

Ally frowned. She didn't much feel like talking to her family at the moment. "I talked to most of them yesterday. All of them made it. The motels in town are currently filled to the brim with Newbern, Knox, Brent, and Baraldi family members. The head count from my side is twenty-four. My parents, my mom's sisters, my dad's brothers, my Baraldi grandparents, my cousins, and Jeremy and his family."

"Jerbear," Paige said with a fond smile. "It's going to be great seeing him again. How long has it been?" Jeremy, Ally's little brother, had been like a little brother growing up. In a way, he'd replaced Garrett. That is, until Gunner, Lilly, and little Garrett had been born.

"Christmas three years ago, I think. You and Chris came with your dad." She smiled at the memory. "Anyway…what's the headcount for your side?"

Paige laughed. "I so _don't _want to know. The last time I sat down to count everyone it was in the mid-one-twenties, and that doesn't count all the dang kids. It's going to be a madhouse around here."

"I feel bad for Rachel…"

"Yeah, me too," a familiar voice chimed.

Paige and Ally both jumped, turning to find Connie sitting on the counters.

"Again with the concept of knocking," Paige said dryly, wiping a hand across her forehead.

"'Lo Aum Connie," Sammy greeted her with a smile and a half-hearted little wave, not lifting his head from his mother's shoulder.

Connie smiled and dipped her head in greeting, reaching out to gently ruffle his blonde locks. "Hey, Sammy boy," she replied, tapping his nose and chuckling when he giggled.

"To what do we owe the honor?" Ally wondered.

"Thought I'd give you a heads up that your families have successfully invaded Thunder Creek. Head count is one-seventy-seven, including the neighbors, distant family, and friends."

"That's a lot of food," she sighed, rubbing her eyes.

"Which is why pretty much everyone is bringing something," Paige said. "The neighbors will be in-and-out. We've got fields to tend now that it's planting season. The majority of them will drop by for lunch and to wish him happy birthday, and then go back to their jobs."

"Still have to feed them if they come," Connie pointed out, shrugging. "Anyway, I took the liberty of bringing my dad. He's currently cooking up a storm at Jared's house. A bunch of homemade and delicious food to help relieve the pressure." She shrugged. "He wanted to come, anyway. He feels isolated. He's the only Informant in California. He misses your dad." She smiled. "So does my mom. So I brought her and my little sister, too."

Sometimes, it was easy to forget that Connie actually had a family, too. The demon that had sired her had possessed her mother before her creation and left her mother as soon as she was born. The man, father, who had raised her hadn't had a thing to do with her creation, but had loved her as his daughter, not knowing any different. She'd been raised in California with a dad named Will, a mom named Kathy, a little sister named Katie, two dogs named Suzy and Callie, a bird called Dumdum, and about twenty fish.

"How is Katie?" Paige wondered as she covered the pot and turned down the heat.

"Good. She's in her junior year at UCSB right now."

Ally looked confused.

"University of Santa Barbara," the two blondes chorused in unison. There was a suddenly large thud and yell of pain from the Gym.

Connie's eyebrow shot up, spinning to look in the direction of the gym. "Who's killing each other?" Her eyes brightened. "Dean and Sam? Please tell me Dean's killing Sam."

Ally rolled her eyes and smacked her with a spatula at the same time Paige smacked her upside the head. "Dean, Jared, and Elliot's hand-to-hand combat class," she reminded her old hunting partner.

"Hmph." Connie suddenly cocked her head to the side, listening. Her eyes widened in barely perceptible horror, and she said, "Gotta go," abruptly disappearing as quickly as she'd appeared.

"We need to put a bell on her or something," Ally muttered, rubbing her face. "Did you see that, though? She looked freaked."

Paige shrugged. "It's probably nothing," she said absently. "Katie probably just touched her shotgun or something. You know how possessive she is of that thing."

Ally shrugged and returned to calling her relatives.

…

Dean had never been happier to finish a workout, ever. He wasn't tired – not in the least – but he was starving. He glanced at the clock to see it was eight in the morning. His class was filing out, greeting Paige before the left to go wash up and eat breakfast at Jay's. They'd all be back for Jared's party later.

"Happy birthday, man," he said to the reason for the party, clapping him on the back. He pulled him into a one-armed hug, something he'd been doing a lot more often after the terror of almost losing him in that damn tank. Jared had gained back all of his previous strength, the only reminder of his ordeal in the scars adorning his muscluar frame. It was good to see him tan and healthy again.

"Thanks," Jared said, grinning brightly as he stuffed his workout towels into his bag. "I could do without all the hoopla, but…well, you've met my mother." He rolled his eyes. "The wedding is going to be crazy. Can you believe she's inviting almost five _hundred _people? Insane. I don't even _know _that many people."

Dean chuckled. "No complaining allowed, pal," he said mock-sternly. "You attended mine and Paige's wedding. I'm almost positive the entire hunting community in contact showed up, as did you and Paige's _entire _family. That was four hundred and twenty-two people. Thank god her family paid for the entire thing, or I would've been broke."

"Well…Grandpa Knox gave all of us huge inheritances because he knew we'd put it to good use helping people," Jared said, shrugging and wiping a hand across his brow. "You've been involved in all of that. We're even talking about building a safe house underground for hunter's passing through."

"Yeah, I know, Jare. So, excited for the party today?"

Jared grinned and shook his head. "Don't get me wrong, I love my family, but… they're a tad overwhelming at things like this. Especially considering I was dying less than four months ago." His expression softened slightly, his eyes sparkling. "Though, I am excited to spend time with Rachel today. I get why you were so over-the-moon when you found out about Sammy. Rachel always laughs at me and postpones conversations until I 'get my brain back', as she puts it." He shook his head. "I can't believe I'm going to be a dad. But I am _so frickin excited_."

"Me, too, Jare. Me, too."

The dark-haired man shouldered his bag. "Think your wife would feed me?" he asked hopefully as his stomach grumbled loudly.

Dean laughed. "She feeds everyone. It's kind of her thing." He gently pushed his friend towards the door of the gym. "Comin', Elliot?" he called, watching Elliot put the last mat back in place. He jogged over to them, sweeping a hand through his hair.

"Yep," he said as he caught up. "My shift starts in fifteen minutes. Do either of you think Paige will give me food for the road?"

"She always, does, El," Jared said, rolling his eyes.

"Can it, squirt," Elliot said with a good natured grin, grabbing him in a headlock. It was in this manner they appeared in the kitchen.

"Daddy!" Sammy said excitedly, suddenly coming alive on Paige's shoulder, holding his arms out.

Dean accepted the boy and swung him around before kissing him noisily on both cheeks. "Morning, baby boy," he crooned, playfully chewing on the toddler's neck and making him screech with delight. He also bent down to kiss his wife good morning.

"Good morning to you all," Paige greeted them. "I'm making some eggs, bacon, and potatoes for you. Have a seat." They did so, seating themselves gratefully at the table and chatting about the workout. "How was your training session?"

"Good," Dean replied, rubbing noses with his son before looking at his wife. "The kids are coming along pretty quick. About half the class doesn't have much more to learn."

Paige nodded understanding, going back to making breakfast. Allyson was sitting in one of the barstools, arguing loudly into the phone in agitated Italian, her expressions switching between annoyance, anger, and disbelief. Her free hand was gesturing wildly as if the person she was currently ranting at was right in front of her. Paige noticed Dean's gaze on her friend and grinned, gesturing at Ally with her chin. "She's talking to her aunt. Apparently, her mom and her two aunts are fighting. Again." She rolled her eyes. "There was quite the drama at the motel last night, as I heard."

Dean rolled his eyes. The Baraldi family had enough drama for six families. Did he love them like family? Yeah. Did he enjoy putting up with them? Not really. Though, he really did like Ally's parents and her little brother. Jeremy had an interesting sense of humor. "Didn't Jeremy get married?"

"Yeah. We missed it because we were snowed in. Remember?"

He nodded. "I remember," he assured her. It had been a particularly harsh December blizzard. She'd been four months pregnant with Sammy. "What's her name again?"

"Maddie," Paige replied. She gestured with her chin at the fridge. "They've got a four month old little girl, Cassidy Nicole."

Dean knew the birth announcement well, as it was on their fridge. Come to think of it, Paige was always switching around pictures on the fridge. The entire surface was covered with pictures of their children, their wedding, her cousins, her friends, her dad and his family, her aunts and uncles, and basically her entire family in-between… she'd even put up recent pictures of him and Sam with the kids, a picture she'd taken a few days ago of Sam, Ally, and Levi, with Donas' head beside Sam, ears pricked towards the camera. The fridge always made him smile. It just… radiated the love within their family.

Paige was thinking the same thing as her eyes ran over the collage of warmth, love, and happiness displayed on her fridge. She had a thing for pictures. Constance had taken some great pictures of her and her family over the years, most of which were framed and hanging around the house.

"Today is going to be crazy," he commented.

"It is," she agreed, hand resting on her stomach, absently rubbing a small circle to reassure her fidgeting unborn son. She had breakfast done soon after, placing plates piled high with food in front of the three hungry men.

Sam appeared with Levi in his arms, both of them rubbing sleep from their eyes in identical gestures. Ally, who had hung up on her aunt and was now muttering under her breath in agitated Italian, immediately went to them to kiss her son, rubbing noses with him and lifting him into her own arms to snuggle him close.

"Good morning, mi amore," she whispered, pressing kisses to his brow and cheeks. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yesh," Levi mumbled, throwing his arms around her neck and hugging her tight. "Feel betta."

"You feel better?"

Levi nodded, his brown eyes earnest. He kissed her cheek and turned to see Elliot and Jared, ducking his head shyly into his mother's shoulder.

Ally rubbed his back, relieved beyond words to have him here, alive and warm in her arms. She kissed the top of his head and twisted soothingly from side to side.

"How's he doing?" Jared asked, his tone concerned.

"Better," Sam yawned, sitting beside them. "What the heck are you wearing?" He had just noticed the strange white fabric adorning his brother and Paige's cousins. He fingered Dean's sleeve, finding the fabric thick but fluid enough to move in. It almost reminded him of a karate uniform or something.

"Hand-to-hand combat training session," Dean explained. "We have them every Saturday morning."

"Oh." He yawned again. "I didn't know that."

Dean nodded and dug into his breakfast, Jared and Elliot doing the same. Music was still playing from the living room, shutting off abruptly. Owen sauntered in, Cocoa under his arm, and made a beeline for Dean's lap. His dad didn't even think about it, just lifted him there and continued to eat his breakfast.

"Daddy, can I ride Patch today?" he whispered, craning his head back to look up at Dean.

"Maybe, buddy," Dean replied, kissing his forehead. "We've got Jared's birthday today. It depends on what mommy's plans are."

"Oh. Okay." His eyes pointed towards the roof when Brody's cries were heard over the baby monitor. Paige put Sammy down and disappeared out the door to go fetch the late riser. He shrugged and asked for a bite of some of his daddy's food as he scooted over to make room for Sammy on his daddy's lap.

Dean held them both close, kissing the tops of their blonde heads. He savored moments like these, chatting with Jared. They wished Elliot goodbye and for a speedy shift, and the police chief tipped his hat and disappeared out the door, calling over his shoulder that he'd see them at Jared's party.

"Guess what, guys?" Dean said as he gave Owen and Sammy some of his toast.

"What?"

"You get to see grandma and grandpa today."

Sammy and Owen's faces both broke into ecstatic grins.

The little boys cheered in unison, as did Levi when Ally said the same.

Dean grinned. Maybe the party would be fun after all.

Paige reappeared with Brody. They sat down for a family breakfast, laughing and joking through it all, relief widespread over Levi's survival. Jared and Sam volunteered for clean up and the boys ran off upstairs to get dressed.

He took the baby from his wife and settled him on his hip. "I'll go get him changed," he promised, leaning down to kiss her.

"Dean, we need to talk really fast," she whispered.

Dean glanced over to find Jared and Sam laughing like loons and flicking soap suds and water at each other. Satisfied they weren't paying attention, he looked down at her, concern making him frown. "What's up?"

"Owen said he had a dream."

He snorted. "Honey, dreams are normal," he assured her, placing his hand on her cheek. "He went through a scary experience. The dreams will fade, in time."

"Dean, he said he's been having dreams about men. Men with black eyes."

Dean's thumb stilled it's stroking of her cheek. "Oh," he said darkly, concern enveloping him like an inferno. "That changes things." He pulled her close to hug her and kiss her forehead. "I'll talk to him, I promise."

"Thank you," she sighed. "Now go get him changed, please."

He chuckled and kissed her, again. "Yes, ma'am," he teased before doing what she asked.

…

Dean reappeared with a fully dressed Brody on his hip. He set him in Jared's willing arms, chuckling over the funny faces the two made at each other. He reached down to take Owen's hat off his head, tipping the boy's chin up with his index finger.

"Hey, dude. Let's go take a walk."

"Okay," Owen mumbled as Dean put the hat back on his head. They walked silently down the porch steps and started on the dirt path towards the barn.

"Mommy told me you've been having scary dreams," Dean began, halting when Owen halted. He resisted the urge to stuff his hands in his pockets and waited for his son to answer.

Owen shoved his hands in his pockets and looked down at his boots, scuffing his toe in the dirt. The brim of his hat hid his face from his father, who had halted beside him with his hands hanging loose at his sides. He didn't look up when his hat was lifted off again, keeping his eyes downcast.

"I'm crazy, aren't I?" he whispered. "I just imagined the black eyes."

"Owen," Dean sighed, resting his hand on the top of the four-year-old's head. "You aren't crazy." He exhaled loud and long, truly not wanting to destroy his innocence… but at the same time, Owen had a right to know.

"Then who was it?"

"It's less of a who and more of a what…" he trailed off, rubbing the back of his head. "You see, there are these creatures called demons."

Owen tipped his head back to look up at him, his hazel eyes swimming with fear and confusion. "Demons? Like the ones I learn about in church on Sundays?"

"Yeah, demons. They have black eyes when they possess a human. And all demons are evil, buddy. They exist for violence, they don't want anything, usually – only carnage. Carnage, death, and destruction. That's what they do. You aren't crazy, Owen, I promise you. Your uncle and I, we hunt demons, and ghosts, and other supernatural creatures."

Owen's lip wobbled. "It's all real?" he asked in a very small voice.

Dean crouched in front of him. "Yes," he said, reaching out to rest his hand on the side of the boy's face, thumb brushing his jaw line. "And I know, Owen. I know that you heard them. The screaming." He wiped away the tear that slid down his son's face. "But you know what? It fades, with time."

"How do you know?" Owen whispered in a shaking voice, his lip wobbling harder, barely holding back the flood of tears.

"Hey, look at me," he urged gently, waiting for his son's tear-filled hazel eyes to fix on him. "I know," he cleared the sudden tightness in his throat, "because when I was your age, I saw something really bad happen to my mom. She… she was killed by a demon, just like your real mommy was." He pulled the boy into his chest and wrapped his arms around him as Owen's dam broke, heart constricting when rough sobs shook his boy's tiny frame.

"You might not think that anyone will believe you, or understand," he said into his boy's ear. "But I believe you, buddy, and so does mommy. And I understand what it feels like. The memory never really goes away. But in time, I promise, it will get better. You'll be able to cope with it."

"Promise?" Tiny hands clutched at the fabric of the back of his jacket.

"I promise," Dean swore, and hugged him tighter, hoping to chase away the demons with an infusion of love and security.

"I love you, daddy," Owen whispered, hiding his face in Dean's neck.

"I love you too, buddy," he promised, standing with the boy in his arms.

Knowing just what would cheer him up, he headed for the stables, looking forward to spending some quality alone time with his son and their horses.

xxx

One o'clock came quickly. The party chairs and tables had been set up, as had the barbeques, the food tables, and the activities. People started pouring in at one o'clock sharp, lingering both inside the ranch house and outside in the warm sunshine.

Jared kept Rachel by his side through all the introductions, her head spinning from all the names. She couldn't possibly be expected to keep them all straight, so she just smiled, nodded, and introduced herself to everyone who came up to greet her fiancé.

Paige appeared, hooking an arm through hers. "Sorry, Jared, I need to steal your fiancé for a while," she explained before leading Rachel to a table, where Ally was sitting talking to a young man who looked remarkably similar to her.

"Rach, this is Jeremy, Ally's brother," Paige introduced them, pulling back a chair. "Jeremy, this is Rachel, Jared's fiancé."

"Nice to meet you," Jeremy said, shaking her hand. "My wife's around here somewhere." He gestured vaguely to the massive groups of people socializing and dancing on the temporary dance floor. His dark eyes swept from her toes to her face. "So, this is the woman who managed to tie down Jared's elusive spirit, huh?"

"The one and only," Rachel agreed, taking a sip of the water a nice man was thoughtful enough to pour for her. She realized with a slight jolt that it was a waiter. "Waiters, Paige? Seriously?"

"There are some massive political people here, Rach," Paige said with a grin. "Senators and other politicians, the Commandant of the Marine Corps, several high-up generals, CEOs and Board Members… a lot of the country's head honcho's are present."

"Why are there no reporters?"

"This isn't a political function, just a birthday party. Jared just so happens to be the son of a Senator, so he knows a lot of political powers."

"Gotcha," Rachel said, palming her face. She'd know that already. Her brain was just so frazzled from the hundreds of names that she'd forgotten temporarily.

"UNCLE NOAH! UNCLE MICHAEL!"

The deafening cheer rang across the party, causing the small group at the table and the rest of the party turn to look at the driveway, where a familiar pair was exiting a black SUV. The taller, blonde and with piercing blue eyes, the second a few inches shorter with darker hair.

A wave of children raced for them all out, arms outstretched. Noah and Michael crouched to meet the hoard, awarding hugs and kisses to all.

_Now there's two men to need to settle down_, Paige thought, smiling as she watched Noah throw Sammy up in the air and kiss his cheeks, while Michael had her nieces Sydney and Katelyn in his arms, laughing while they pulled on his ears. It was obvious the children adored the pair.

The party resumed as soon as the touching moment was over. Paige took notice of Ally's camera, clicks filling the air as she snapped pictures of the scene taking place not ten feet away from them.

"Sorry," Rachel said, wincing and feeling stupid. "That was really cute, though," she added, gesturing at the two FBI Agents, who were walking into the party with the kids excitedly bouncing up and down all around them, pleading for airplane and piggyback rides.

"It's okay," Jeremy assured her, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest. "We've been through this a million times. You just smile and nod until you remember the bloke's name. It's worked since we were kids." He gestured at his sister and Paige.

"Good to know."

"Congrats on the engagement and baby, then," Jeremy said, smiling. He looked across the dance floor and spotted his father. "Ally, dad and mom are here," he said, nudging her. Ally scowled at him but realized he was telling the truth and smiled happily, stowing her camera back in her case. "Come on." The siblings excused themselves and hurried over to hug them, having not seen either of their parents in a while. Levi appeared suddenly, and Anthony (Ally's father) scooped him up and hugged him tight, passing him along to Marybeth, Ally's mother.

Paige was keeping a close eye on the kids. There were tons of them – her children, her cousins, her friends' kids, her nieces and nephews, her godsons and goddaughters… too many kids to keep track of, really. She was just glad that Brody was safely on Dean's hip at the moment. She noticed with amusement that Dean was in his usual group – The Young Hunters, as they had been dubbed by the older group. It was good to see them together and laughing, a growing number of them with kids on their hips.

"This is madness," Rachel observed brightly, noting that Jared was with Dean and the rest of the guys. "But it's tons of fun."

"They all are," she said with a laugh. "I'm just glad I'm not chief planner. I would die." And then she spotted who she'd been waiting for. She gripped Rachel's arm and pulled her to her feet. "Come on, Rach. I want you to meet my dad."

Rachel was slightly excited. Her own family was around here – somewhere, anyway, she'd lost them in the crowd between the dance floor and the punch bowl – but she'd always wanted to meet the famous Mr. Newbern. Jared hardly, if ever, shut up about him.

"Daddy!" Paige said, tone excited at she threw her arms around the neck of a towering, dark-haired man clad in slacks and a green shirt. The man hugged her back and kissed the top of her head.

"Hey, sweetheart," he greeted her, gripping her shoulders to look her up and down. "Wow, honey, you look great. You're glowing." He grinned and hugged her again. "I missed you."

"Same here, dad," his daughter replied with a warm smile, pulling away to put an arm around Rachel's shoulders. "Dad, this is Rachel. Jared's fiancé."

Brad's hazel eyes lit up as he pushed aside her outstretched hand to give her a fatherly hug. "So I finally get to meet the famous lassie who stole Jared's heart," he teased. "I'm happy to have someone like you in our family."

Rachel was surprised but touched by the hug. "It's an honor to meet you," she said, smiling brightly. "Jared is practically the chief of your fan club."

Brad chuckled. "That kid has been ever since I let him ride his horse with no saddle when he was five," he admitted, eyes sparkling. "Funny. Seeing as Jared never shuts up about you, and Paige has mentioned you more than once." His eyes found his daughter's, one eyebrow lifting.

Paige blushed and shrugged it off, turning her attention to the woman standing beside her dad. Her eyes filled with happy tears. Debbie looked exactly the same as always – as tall as her, with soft blue eyes and a warm and loving smile, her light brown hair pulled into a bun at the nape of her neck.

"Hey, sweetheart," Debbie said warmly, enveloping her in a hug.

"Hey, mom," Paige replied, hugging her tight. "It's been way too long."

"It has," she agreed. "And your father was right. You are positively glowing." She smiled warmly. "Rascals, come say hi to your sister!" she called over her shoulder. The three kids who had been trailing behind, petting Paige's dogs, lifted their heads. There was Gunner, a handsome young man who was a spitting image of Chris, with their father's hazel eyes. Little miss Lilly had grown, too, her curly blonde hair pulled into an extravagant bun so that curls framed her kind, gentle face. And last but not least was the little devil, Garrett, his white-blonde hair shaggier than the last time she'd seen him, his greenish eyes sparkling with mirth.

"Hey, guys," Paige called, opening her arms. Gunner raced towards her at full speed, hugging her tight, closely followed by Lilly and Gare. Her heart swelled. She didn't see her siblings enough and missed them whenever they were apart. She hugged them tighter.

"Paige!" they cheered in unison, craning their heads back to look up at her, excited grins on their faces.

She kissed all three of their foreheads. "I missed you rascals," she said, affectionately ruffling the boys' hair (God forbid she mess up Lilly's hairstyle; the girl was a total fashion princess, which never ceased to amuse her dad, as she had been the exact opposite as a child). "So, are you three going to come stay with me and Dean this summer?"

"Oh, _can _we?" Lilly gasped, her blonde curls bouncing wildly, her blue eyes –Debbie's eyes– wide and excited. "Daddy, can we?"

"Sure, Lil, as long as its fine with Paige and Dean." He looked at his daughter. "You don't have to, honey."

"Shut up, dad, I want to," Paige replied, rolling her eyes.

"Yeah, shut up, dad!" her three younger sibilngs echoed.

"Hey!" she protested with a laugh. "No mimicking, you three!"

They stuck their tongues out in unison and raced off at top speed to find Dean. All four adults shook their heads. Rachel and Debbie started immediately hitting it off, walking off together deep in conversation.

"Glad to see her making friends," Brad commented, his eyes sparkling as he grinned. "That's necessary in a family like this one." He found he liked the bubbly young woman – she would be good for Jared. That boy was a bit too serious… reminded him of his own eldest son. At the thought of his precious boy, his thoughts darkened and he pushed away the memory of losing him, focusing instead on how alike Chris and Gunner were…

Paige smiled and shook her head in amusement. "So where are Travis and Carolyn?" she wondered.

"At home. They're busy with last-minute school stuff, so I left them with Rod." Paige nodded at that; Rod had been like an uncle growing up, and continued to be now. Her dad and Tony Baraldi were the co-CEO's and owners of J&J Enterprises, whereas Rod was the head of the Board.

"Let's go find those grandsons of yours, shall we?" she suggested, noting how her father immediately brightened.

As if on cue, her two young, blonde sons appeared from the crowd.

"GRANDPA!" they cheered in unison, faces breaking out in grins of pure joy as they raced full-speed for her father's towering form.

Paige rested her arms on the top of her baby belly as she watched her father envelop the boys in a huge hug and lift them off the ground. A strong arm settled across her back, familiar lips pressing a kiss to her temple. She tilted her head back to smile at her husband, leaning back against him, his hand coming up to rest on her stomach, over their baby.

It was good to be home.

* * *

**E/N**: Hey, guys. So… this chapter is, like, GINORMOUS. It was originally over 55 pages long. Edited and chopped off at this point, this chapter is still 32 pages long. I scrapped it twice, and this is the third version. I just couldn't get it right. First I killed off Levi, but I just couldn't do it (cried through the whole scene and couldn't write any more), so I kept him alive but didn't like that version either, so… here's this version. Which, I have to say, I kinda like.

I know I said there would be Benders in this chapter, but that's actually the next chapter. I split this chapter in two, and I'm editing the second part at the moment. I will hopefully have that out sometime this week, depending on my homework load.

Again, I am sorry for the huge wait between these. But it's a massive chapter, so hopefully you won't hate me too much! I know there wasn't much action in this one (more drama, really), but the next one will be crazy… bwahahaha. :D

I can successfully say, however, that my writer's block is gone! Woot!

Hope you guys enjoy. Let me know what you think… feedback is appreciated. I seriously love each and every one of you who review. Without you, this story wouldn't be possible. You're my life source. Thank you for that!

**As always,  
REVIEWS = LOVE**

Lots and lots of love. :D


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N**: Hey, guys. So… I know I promised I wouldn't go through episodes anymore. However, I can't go through the important stuff without drabbling into pretty much the entire thing, seeing as this hunt is the reason behind a lot of the stuff that happens in the next few chapters, and for that matter, up to the finale… just bear with me.

On a different note, thanks to those 4 reviewers. You guys dying on me again? Man, I hope not… I may have to threaten to start killing people off….

Anyway, pat on the back for my longest chapter ever. Woo!

Kudos to Zampers for her help on the episode part. You rock, Zampy. Love ya!

Without further ado, part two. Hey, look! I can rhyme! *ahem* Sorry. I'm… uh… going to bed now. Bye.

**Disclaimer**: Don't own it, no matter how much I wish I did. I only own my awesomely epically amazing OCs. (Hehe…)

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-One**  
We're So Cursed: Part II  
They Tried To EAT Me…

**Thunder Creek, Wyoming**  
April 1, 2006

Paige moved easily through the flood of people, making a beeline for her son. "Sammy," she called, relieved when he turned to look at her, a bright smile on his face. "Come on, buddy. Lunch time. Where's Owen?"

"Here, mommy," Owen said, appearing beside her, hair tousled and knees dirty. She suspected Noah had gotten the boys into a wrestling match. She'd have to smack him for that later…

"Hey, sweetheart. Okay, boys, come on. Time to go eat." She took both of their hands and headed for the table Dean had saved for them. Jeremy, Michael, and Noah were also seated at that table, plates already piled high with food. Brody was in his high chair eating cheerios. She looked down at both of them. "Are you two having fun?"

"Yeah," Owen said with a huge grin. "Noah let us pet the horses in the paddock, and then we played hide-and-seek, and then we did ring around the rosy and he fell down. it was funny." He grinned up at his mother, holding tightly to her hand. "I like him."

"I like him, too, buddy," she said, squeezing his hand. "What about you, Sammy? Are you having fun, too?"

"Yesh," Sammy said with a happy grin. "Lub uca Noah."

"You love Uncle Noah?"

"Yesh," he said matter-of-factly, a wider smile tilting his lips.

"Me, too." She let go of Owen and pointed at the chair she'd put there for him. She lifted Sammy into his booster seat and strapped him in to make sure he wouldn't disappear, just as Dean appeared with plates for both of them, the food already cut down into bite-sized portions.

"I already got you a plate, honey," Dean said, pointing to it as he set the plates in his hands before his sons. He took his seat as he spoke, patting the seat beside him. There were five empty seats at their table, seats that were soon filled with Little John, Sydney, Kate, and Amy.

"I put Chris to sleep in the guest room," Amy explained as she put plates before each of her children. "He's feeling a little under the weather and hasn't been sleeping very well lately."

"Sorry to hear that," Paige said as she opened a jar of pears, Brody's favorite. She started feeding it to him, before he took the spoon to feed himself. He was eleven months, almost twelve… his birthday was on April twenty-first. Just twenty more days, and her baby would be one. Speaking of which, it was only ten days now until Owen turned five. She had to remember to hand out invitations while everyone was still here.

"It's okay. Of all the kids, Chris is the most fragile," Amy said with a smile as she cut up Sydney and Kate's chicken. "This is a lovely party."

Everyone at the table nodded agreement.

"Auntie Paige?" John asked from across the table, dark blue eyes wide and earnest.

"What's up, JB?" she wondered, smiling at him as she made sure Brody was eating his pears. Well, sort of eating his pairs. Most of them were on the ground or on his bib, but what the heck, he was having fun.

"Can I come riding with you guys sometime? I really, really miss it," he said forlornly, scratching his forehead. "Momma had to tell Triton after daddy… well, after daddy."

Paige's expression was puzzled. "Hey, little man," she said, waiting for her brother's eldest to look at her. He didn't. "Hey, you with the red shirt and adorable dimples," she said louder. It worked.

John looked up at her, a half-smile curving at the corners of his lips.

"You don't have to ask me for anything, buddy. Okay? You can come riding here as much as you want, so long as it's okay with your mom." She glanced at Amy, waiting for her sister-in-law to nod, eyes also downcast on the table, seeming to have forgotten she was supposed to be cutting up her twins' lunch. She leaned closer to her nephew so that their noses were almost touching over the top of the table. "Did your momma not tell you?"

"Tell me what?" he stage whispered.

"She didn't sell Triton. He's right out there." She turned slightly to point over her shoulder to the paddocks spanned down the tree-lined drive. In the paddock closest, there were three horses grazing peacefully, their tails swishing at the pestering flies, their coats gleaming in the warm sunshine. As if sensing her attention, the three of them lifted their heads, ears pricked forward and pointed in their direction.

"You see the bay?"

John nodded, eyes following the line her finger was pointing. He easily recognized his Uncle Dean's horse. There was another horse, a black one, and beside the black was a big reddish one with a white stripe down his face.

"That's Sergeant. He's Uncle Dean's horse. And the black one is Caspian, he's my horse." She smiled down at her nephew. "But you see that chestnut, there? The big reddish looking one?"

"Yeah," he said slowly, puzzled as to where this was going.

"That's Triton. I kept him, because your daddy asked me to. When you're old enough, he's yours."

That split John Bradley's face into the biggest and brightest smile she'd ever seen.

Dean ruffled the boy's hair. "Your Auntie is right, you know," he said, poking the boy in his sensitive stomach and grinning when the boy giggled. "He's waiting for you. Maybe this summer, I'll teach you how to ride."

"I'd like that."

"Me, too, squirt." He ruffled Owen's hair. "And then the three of us can go out riding together. Maybe we can even get your Uncle Sam to come."

"Never," Sam called from the table behind them, where he was just sitting down with his fiancé. He flashed them a playful smile before diverting his attention to Ally, who was animatedly gesturing with her hands while she described a funny story that soon had her table in fits of laughter.

"Ignore him," Noah, Michael, and Dean said in perfect unison. They then laughed.

"That still freaks me out," Paige said as she took a bite of Mr. Brennan's heavenly potatoes. "Oh my God, these are amazing."

There was a slight puff of air, accompanied by Connie, who was seated in the only vacant seat at their table, grinning slyly. "I know, aren't they?" she agreed, taking a huge bite of them as she set her plate on the table.

"Nice of you to drop in," Dean said dryly.

Connie shrugged and smiled, waving at Chris and Amy's kids, who hadn't noticed her sudden appearance and who were currently trying to figure out who she was. "You were outside. It's not like I could _knock_. Yeesh." And with that, she returned to her food.

"How's it goin', Hoops?" Noah asked between bites of his burger. "Shoot anyone lately?"

"Nobody of importance," the woman replied nonchalantly. "I remembered Jared's present."

"You got Jared a present?" the table chorused, faces paling.

Connie rolled her eyes. "Seriously? It's nothing that will bite, poison, shoot, stab, threaten, or kill him in any way." That made everyone relax. "Unless, of course, he points it at himself," she added, smirking when they all tensed up again. "You'll see."

"Oh, God," Dean remarked, putting a hand to his forehead. "We're all going to die."

…

The party continued most of the day, the adults mingling and talking while their children entertained themselves playing on the Winchesters' expansive lawns. Political elite mixed with farmers and ranchers. Everyone present knew about hunters. And nobody particularly cared.

Paige was sitting with Brody in her lap, cleaning his face before setting him back on his feet and watching him waddle off after the other kids, his legs sprawled wide for balance. It was around this time that the man of honor strode by, bending to peck both her and Ally on the cheek, pausing awkwardly at Connie before patting her on the top of the head and taking one of the seats the kids had vacated.

"So, KG, heard you got me a birthday present," Jared said, crossing his arms and lifting an eyebrow.

Connie smiled. "Damn straight," she replied, taking a healthy bite of her third burger. She was slightly annoyed at their amused expressions over her appetite. "Haven't eaten in almost a week, jackass," she aimed in Noah's direction.

Noah's smile grew wider. "It's just that, well, I've never really seen you eat. You'll snack on stuff, sure. But a whole meal? Never." His eyebrows lifted higher. "I am, however, terrified –"

"The great Noah Clayborne, terrified of little ole me?" Connie gasped in mock-horror. "Well, sir, why?"

The FBI Agent snorted. "Terrified of you? Hardly. Terrified of what you got Jared? Yes." The look on his face was knowing now, almost smug.

"I only set his pants on fire that _one _time, Clayborne," she insisted, eyes narrowing.

"_And_ you singed my eyebrows off!"

"I _told _you I was going to blow up the house. _You _didn't listen!"

Everyone was grinning at the exchange between the FBI Agent and the female hunter. Both were pretty worked up. If their beet red faces and expressive hand gesturing was any indication, anyway.

"You didn't have any _explosives_, Brennan, how was I supposed to know you can blow up shit with your _mind_?"

"Noah," Paige warned, defending her old hunting partner. The Agent ignored her, keeping his eyes on Connie.

"Noah, relax. It's just a simple gift. Nothing that's going to blow up anything. Honest." She held up her hand. "Scout's honor."

He and Jared both looked doubtful.

Connie sighed and put down her hamburger. She wiped her hands, and then reached inside her pocket and pulled out a small box. "Would you like me to show you what it is, Noah, Jared? Everyone?" she addressed the table at large. They exchanged glances and shrugged. So, she took off the ribbon, handed Jared the card, and opened the top of the cardboard box. From inside, she drew out a delicate object wrapped in bubble wrap that she carefully extracted. While she was unwrapping it she shielded it from view, until finally, she held up a cupped hand, straightening her fingers to reveal the delicate object sitting in her palm.

It was an angel. To be more specific, it was a five-inch tall statue of Michael striking Lucifer down with his sword, at the end of the famous battle of the heavenly angels versus the fallen.

"It's for the baby," Connie explained, clearing her throat awkwardly at the sudden silence. "You can put it on a shelf or on a mantle. I picked the scene because I thought it was fitting. You know, the whole we're a group of hunters who fight like he did thing. I guess in a way, we're kind of Michael, while all the evil crap is Lucifer. Though in the real world, good doesn't always win." She sighed and held it out to Jared, and he carefully lifted it from her palm. It was about five inches tall and beautifully depicted, with the finest detail he had ever seen. "I made it myself out of a piece of marble. When I was done, I put every protection symbol I could think of on it. I know you haven't had a chance to bombproof the nursery like Dean has, so now you won't have to. That will evil-proof your entire house."

Jared didn't know what to say, and for the record, neither did anyone else. They were staring at the half-demon woman with mixed expressions of shock and awe, many of their eyes shining with moisture. Paige was smiling at her old hunting partner in a knowing way and nodded at her to show approval.

"Wow," Jared said finally, clearing his throat to expel the sudden lump. "Um… thank you, Constance." He stood and bent down to give her a strong one-armed hug, surprising Constance more than words could say. After a moment, she hugged him back, and then he pulled away, eyes shining. "Not counting my fiancé and my child, this is the greatest gift I have ever gotten."

Connie shrugged it off and stood, sadness welling in her gaze as she struggled to control the surge of emotions swirling as the result of Jared's show of love and acceptance. The only other person who had ever given her that was Paige.

"You know…" she said, clearing her throat to regain composure. Her eyes made contact with the entire table, pausing the longest on Jared, Noah, and Dean. "It'd be nice if you'd remember sometimes that I'm part human, too."

She strode away from them, and in the blink of an eye, was gone.

* * *

**Thunder Creek Memorial Hospital**  
April 3, 2006

Ally sat quietly on the hospital bed, twiddling her thumbs. Sam was fidgeting beside her, his hand engulfing her much smaller wrist. She sighed and rolled her eyes, grinning at her fiancé's nerves.

"Sam…"

"Shut up, Ally," Sam said, smiling to lessen the sting.

"It's yes or no."

"I can't decide."

She rolled her eyes.

"I want to know," he said suddenly, nodding confirmation.

"Okay," Ally agreed, waiting for it.

"Aargh, no I don't!" Sam said suddenly, shaking his head and fidgeting anymore.

There it was. She sighed. She had a nagging feeling he was going to be doing this for a while.

"I want to know."

Two seconds passed.

"No I don't."

Five seconds, this time. Sam sure is branching out, she thought sarcastically.

"Wait, yes I do."

Ally watched Sam grip his head in his hands, fingers threading through his hair.

"No I don't! Damn it, why is this so _hard_?" he said, frustrated and exasperated.

"It's a yes or no question, Sam," she pointed out gently. For the forty-second time. Yes, she'd been counting.

"Shut _up_, Allyson!" he said tiredly, rubbing his face. "I can't decide…"

"Eeny meeny miny moe," Ally responded in a singsong voice.

"ALLYSON!"

"What? I'm just trying to help," she said innocently.

"It's. Not. Helping," he said through clenched teeth.

She giggled, a very non-Ally sound. "Sam, come on. You either don't know, or you do."

"What _difference_ does it make?" he exploded, eyes frantic.

"Makes no difference to me," she said nonchalantly, shrugging. "I already know what gender each of the babies is."

"That just makes it _worse_," he moaned, dropping his head back into his hands.

Ally sighed and settled back against the pillows. There was a sound outside the door. "Looks like you're going to have to decide, Sam," she warned as the door swung open.

"I want to know," Sam said suddenly, steely resolve in his gaze. He nodded to confirm.

"Final answer?" she pressed, wanting to make sure that he was sure with this.

"No," he cried, dropping his face back into his hands.

Ally grinned mischievously and started singing the theme to Final Jeopardy.

Her fiancé just lightly smacked her arm and started laughing.

Amy Newbern, Paige's sister-in-law and close friend of the family, entered the room and grinned at the scene. "Ah, the annual Yes/No battle, huh?" she guessed as she rolled her stool over to the side of the bed.

"The very one," Ally confirmed. "He still can't decide."

"What did you and Chris do?" Sam pleaded, needing backup information before making a decision.

"Well, we didn't know for John. We wanted to, but part of me wanted to be surprised. So Chris didn't want to know, either. When it came to the twins, however, we wanted to be prepared. Two babies is more than one, and a lot more work. We also wanted to have clothes, nurseries, that kind of stuff planned out ahead of time." She paused, clearing her throat. "We knew that baby Chris was a boy. He was originally going to be named Aaron Christopher. But after Chris died, and I had the baby, I just knew in my heart that he had to be named after his daddy. So I named him Christopher John instead."

"So do you think it would help for me to know the genders?"

"I don't think it's going to make much of a difference either way," Amy said gently. "It's up to you, Sam. You haven't gotten to experience something like this before. It's your decision."

Sam thought about it while Amy spread the gel on Ally's growing stomach and clicked on the ultrasound machine.

"I think I'd like to know," he said calmly, having finally made his decision.

Amy smiled. "Well, then, congratulations, Sam. You're having a son and a daughter." She was quiet for a few minutes while she observed the ultrasound picture. "It looks like they're both doing well. Their heartbeats are strong and steady."

"What were you checking them for?" Ally wondered, peering at the screen and trying to understand what she was looking at. She knew the general shape of the baby, but even having had a baby before, it was hard to tell by looking, as she wasn't an expert.

"Because of Jace's heart condition right now, we want to be extra careful to check that it's not genetic," Amy explained. "We still aren't sure what's wrong with Jace's heart, if there even is anything wrong with Jace's heart. I just wanted to make sure that your twins aren't displaying any anomalies. Don't worry, Ally, both seem to be perfectly healthy."

"So who's who?" Sam wondered, tightly holding Ally's hand as they watched the screen and listened to the steady heartbeats of their babies.

Amy moved towards the top of Ally's stomach with the wand. She reached out to the screen. "Your little boy is right here. This, here, is his head. There's a foot, right there. And if you look really closely here, you can see his, um, private parts, as John would say." She laughed softly and moved down to the bottom of Ally's stomach to do the same. "Here's the girl. This is her head, feet… and her hands, fisted right here. You see?" She smiled at their excitement when they nodded.

Sam and Ally both grinned and nodded, happy that their children were healthy. He beamed, looking down at his fiancé. They waited for Amy to clean Ally up and leave. When they were alone, he bent over and pressed his lips to hers in a passionate kiss.

"I love you, Mophead," he teased, framing her face in his hands.

Ally smiled up at him. "And I love you, Sasquatch," she replied, grinning with him. "Now, let's go home. By now, Levi has probably reorganized the entire fridge and sent Paige into a homicidal frenzy."

"That would be bad," Sam agreed, helping her sit up and handing his fiancé her jacket. "That would be very, very bad."

"Duly noted, Mr. Winchester. Let's go home."

He held the door for her and followed her down the hall.

* * *

**Thunder Creek, Wyoming**  
April 4, 2006 Tuesday

Paige Winchester marveled at the silence of her home. Dean was out in the fields, as he was most every morning, trailing the cows with her family members and her two ranch hands. Cody Jackson, who she had hired yesterday, had joined them for his first day on the job. Elliot had picked Sam up on his way to the station, dropping Sam off at Town Square to do the daily shopping. Lisa would meet him as soon as her shift at the hospital was over, help him finish everything on the list, and then drive him back here. Ally had taken the older kids – Owen, Sammy, and Levi – into town to get ice cream like she'd promised them yesterday, knowing that today was the day the social worker was coming.

She was currently babysitting Abby and of course, Brody. The little girl had grown like a weed in the past few months, and was almost a year old. She was only a little younger than her son and the two of them got along like peas in a pod.

She made frequent checks on the kids while she started to chop up vegetables to put in the crock pot for dinner that night. Dean and the boys would be hungry, so she had two pots ready. It was sort of tradition for her to feed her hands before they went home for the night, or in Ty and Chuck's case, went to the loft to sleep.

Abby and Brody were content to play together. Both were quiet personalities, more observers than anything. They were babbling and crawling around like babies do.

Paige was trying very hard to distract herself. She was nervous – the social worker was due to arrive anytime. All it would take is one word, and the woman could take away her babies. The firm knock at the door almost gave her a heart attack. With a pounding heart, she opened the door with a smile on her face.

The woman on the porch was stern-looking, her dark brown hair done up in a tight bun, her formal suit clean and pressed. Her skin was deeply tanned, her eyes brown, gentle but sharp.

"Good afternoon," the woman said, holding out her hand. "I'm Charlotte Danes."

"Paige Newbern," she introduced herself, shaking the outstretched hand. "Welcome to our home." She stepped aside. "Come on in."

"Thank you," Charlotte said with a smile. She was holding a briefcase, Paige noticed.

"So, what exactly is the plan here?" Paige wondered. "The last social worker that came by just had a bunch of paperwork for me to fill out."

"Yes, that's government policy," Charlotte explained, following her to the kitchen. "What I'm going to do is inspect the home, and speak to the boys and you, separately, of course."

"Okay," she said, smiling. "Would you like something to drink? Iced tea, lemonade, water? Please, have a seat." She gestured to the barstools.

"Thank you," the social worker said, settling on the comfortable chair, setting her briefcase on the counter. "Iced tea would be great." Her eyes scanned the kitchen, studying it with sharp eyes. The table was of soft wood, the chairs cushioned with soft green. Two walls were white, two were a soft green. There was a window box outside, visible through the kitchen window, the flowers bright and cheerful. A vase on the table held sunflowers, adding cheer to the already cheerful room. On either side of the wide doorway was an assortment of family photos, some in black and white, some in color.

All in all, it was a very cheerful place. The counters were marble, the floor matching, the cupboards the same wood as the table. The appliances, all stainless steel, were spotless, and the fridge covered in a collage of family photographs held in place by bright and cheerful magnets. She felt at ease, here. Now she just needed to inspect the rest of the house.

She smiled at Paige and accepted the iced tea. "So, what are you making?" she wondered.

"Pot roast. The boys in the field get hungry towards dinnertime, so I'm making two instead of the usual one. Hungry men eat lots of food." Paige flashed Charlotte a bright smile. "My best friend took Owen and my son Sammy into town to get some ice cream. She's got a son the same age as mine."

"And she lives in this home with you?" Charlotte wondered as she sipped the delicious iced tea.

"Temporarily," Paige admitted, adding the vegetables to the pots. "Her and her fiancé are shopping around for homes in town."

"And what about Nicholas? Is he here?"

Paige started slightly, frowning. And then it dawned on her. "Ah, Nicholas. We call him Brody, now. And Matthew decided to re-name himself Owen, after his deceased grandfather." She cleared her throat. "Owen doesn't like to be reminded of his old life."

"But where is he?"

She pointed out the doorway. "In the play pen. I'm babysitting my cousin's daughter as well. They're about the same age. "I can give you a tour in a moment, just let me set the temperature on these things."

Charlotte waited patiently for the mother to finish, wipe her hands, and remove her apron. She stood, leaving her briefcase.

Paige led the way to the living room and the playpen. "Hey, you two," she said affectionately, bending down to kiss them both on the head.

"Mama," Brody cried, sticking his arms up. She lifted him and settled him on her hip.

"Brody, can you say hi to Charlotte?"

Brody waved and ducked shyly into his mother's shoulder, one bright blue eye peering up at the woman.

"Well, hello there, little guy," Charlotte said, bending down to look directly at the one-year-old. "How are you?" She reached out to poke his soft tummy, smiling when he giggled and squirmed in his mother's arms.

"As soon as my friend gets back, I can give you a tour," she promised.

"So, I'm to understand that you are a hunter?"

Paige smiled at the social worker. "Retired," she said matter-of-factly. "I retired in two thousand and four."

"With the birth of your son?"

"With the conception of my son," Paige corrected, nuzzling Brody's cheek. "I wasn't willing to put our baby in danger."

"And Dean… he still hunts?"

"Yes, he does."

"How exactly do you know Michael and Noah, then?" Charlotte pressed, truly curious.

"Michael is my cousin. Noah's dad is a close family friend. I grew up with both of them."

"Cousin how?"

"Michael is on my dad's side of the family. I grandpa, John, has three siblings, two boys, one girl. The girl, my aunt Helen, is the second of the four. She married my uncle, Tom Brent, and they had two children, my dad's cousins Patrick and Marianne. Patrick married a lady named Nicole, and they have eight children. Michael is the third of the eight."

"Big family," she commented.

Paige nodded, turning as she heard a car pull up. "Looks like the circus is back," she said dryly, a smile curving her lips. As she spoke, the kitchen door flew open and little feet pounded into the room.

"Look, mom!" Owen cried excitedly, charging up to her and holding up his ice cream cone. "Auntie Ally let me get one of bubblegum _and _cherry!"

"Awesome, honey," Paige said with a warm smile, ruffling his hair. Sammy, who had been two steps behind his older brother, clung to her other leg, holding up his vanilla cone. "Mmm, Sammy. Yummy?"

"Yesh," Sammy beamed. There was vanilla ice cream all over his face and his clothes. "Ummy."

"I'm glad," she said, ruffling his hair. "What about you, Lee?"

Levi had been standing back, quietly licking at his dripping chocolate chip ice cream. He shot his aunt a thumbs up and grinned cheekily just as his mother entered behind them with Chris on her hip.

"Looks like we're the impromptu babysitters," Ally announced as John Bradley and the twins raced over to give their aunt a hug and babble excitedly about their ice cream flavors.

"Hey, you guys," Paige greeted them, ruffling all of their hair and laughing at their messy faces. "Owen, look," she said, waiting for Owen to look up at her. She nodded at Charlotte. "This is Ms. Danes. She's your new case worker."

Owen stared up at the woman, ice cream cone forgotten. He clung to Paige's leg, eyes filling with terror. "I don't wanna go!" he yelled suddenly. "You can't make me!"

Paige, surprised by the outburst, put Brody back in the playpen and hugged Owen to her. "Hey, buddy, it's okay. Nobody is going to make you go anywhere." She looked up at Ally. "Would you mind, Al?" she asked, tipping her head at the group of now-quiet children.

Charlotte cleared her throat, shocked by the five-year-old's vehement protests. "Is there somewhere more private that we can conduct our meeting?" she wondered. "And to get an inspection of the premises?"

"Of course," Paige said, holding Owen's hand. "Come on, Owen, let's show this nice lady our house, okay?"

Owen nodded but stayed as close as possible to her as they showed the woman the house, room by room.

At the end of the tour, Charlotte was astounded. The house was huge, beautifully kept, warmly decorated, and each of the kid's separate rooms would allow for personal space and a place to express individuality. The entire structure was infused with love, warmth, and stability: the perfect environment for these two troubled little boys. There were play rooms, libraries, studies… even an art room for drawing, painting, and playing with clay. In addition was a huge gym for exercise, and according to Paige, self-defense training, and a giant music room with piano, violin, cellos….

Everything the little boys could possibly need was right in front of them. Paige had even gone so far to take pictures of the boys throughout their childhoods, frame them, and put them on the wall, showing the children that they were a part of her family now and forever.

"Can we conduct an interview now?" Charlotte wondered as they ended up back at the kitchen.

"Of course," Paige said, now that Owen was a little more relaxed.

"Owen, what would make you most comfortable?" Charlotte asked, bending down to look him in the eye.

"The stables," the boy mumbled, glaring at her. Not from anger, but from fear and mistrust.

So, she followed them – in heels, no less – down the pathway to the expansive building.

Owen looked up at his mother. "Can we sing, mommy?" he wondered, tugging at her hand.

"What would you like to sing?"

"Can we sing _Over in the Barnyard_?"

Paige grinned and swung their joined hands, mindful of the social worker beside them.

"Over in the barnyard…"

"Early in the morning," Owen sang, skipping now.

"_See the yellow chickies_  
_Standing in a row._  
_See the busy farmer_  
_Giving them their breakfast._  
_Cheep, cheep, cheep, cheep_," they sang in unison.

"Off they go!" Owen cheered the last line, grinning hugely. "I like feeding chickens," he announced to the world at large. "And taking care of Patch."

Paige squeezed his hand. "Me, too, honey."

"Milking cows if fun, too," the boy continued to babble, skipping along happily, fears seemingly forgotten. He let go of his mother's hand as they entered the barn to charge down the hallway.

"Patch!" he called.

Halfway down the left-hand aisle, Patch's elegant head shot over the door, ears pricked forward, hay sticking from the corners of his chewing mouth. He whickered and tossed his head as the boy ran up to him, hands rubbing the head the pony lovingly lowered.

"You allow him to come into contact with horses?" Charlotte inquired, eyebrows practically in her hairline.

"Of course," Paige replied, puzzled. "This is Wyoming. On a ranch. Horses are kind of a given. Besides, Patch has become one of his best friends."

"So, Owen, do you like it here?" Charlotte asked, sitting daintily on a saddle rack.

Owen nodded, hand on Patch's cheekbone. "I love it here," he corrected. "I get to have fun and do things my old mommy and daddy wouldn't let me, like play outside and watch movies and sing silly songs, and ride horses and roll around in the mud and make snowmen. Daddy doesn't get mad at me when I accidentally break things like my old daddy used to."

"So you are comfortable here?"

He nodded, scuffing his toe and shifting closer to Paige's legs, hand reaching out to grip his mother's pants. "Are you gonna take me away?" he whispered in a small voice, eyes tearing up.

"Do you want me to?"

"No," Owen said, shaking his head, eyes wide. "I don't wanna go. I love my family."

"Alright, Owen. Then you can stay here. Would that make you happy?"

"Forever?" he breathed, hardly daring to believe.

"Forever," she social worker promised, looking up at Paige's tear-filled eyes as well as the boys. "Will that make you happy?" she repeated.

"Oh, very," Owen said, excitement surging through him. "Did you hear that mommy? I get to stay!"

"I heard, sweetheart," Paige said, laughing when he climbed up on a saddle rack to give her a tight hug. "So, what do you think? Should we go tell your brother?"

Owen nodded, smiling happily. "Can we tell daddy, too? I wanna surprise him at dinnertime."

"Okay," Paige agreed, rubbing noses with him. "We'll do that." She lowered him back to the ground. "Now, why don't you go give Patch a good brushing? He looks a little dirty."

The boy raced off for his grooming bucket, singing at the top of his lungs, the horses snorting at him as he sped past.

"Do you mean that, Ms. Danes? He can really stay?" Paige said, hardly daring to hope.

"I mean it," Charlotte promised. "The house is perfect, they are happy and secure, and obviously feeling very, very loved. It would be a crime to take them away from you." She smiled and hugged the pregnant woman. "I will continue to visit once a week until they are officially adopted, or until I deem that only two visits a month are necessary. I'll be checking up on their emotional development." She glanced in the direction Owen had disappeared to. "Shall we go discuss this in the kitchen?"

"Yes," Paige agreed, smiling at the woman and resting a hand on her stomach, where Jace was avidly kicking her. "My ranch hand Ty is working on leather in the tack room. He'll keep an eye on Owen. Plus, Patch is Owen's personal bodyguard."

"That's nice to know." She smiled and brushed off her skirt. "I'd like to finish that glass of iced tea, now."

Paige smiled back and led the way, her heart much lighter than before. She couldn't wait to tell Dean.

* * *

**Thunder Creek, Wyoming**  
April 7, 2006  
Knox Ranch – Jared's home

_A/N: After the above part with Connie, I just had to throw in this little part, too… :D_

Jared Knox stood leaning against the doorway, lost in thought. He could hear Rachel moving around in the kitchen downstairs, talking to the dogs and to some of his family – Paige, Dean, the kids, Elliot, Michael, Noah, Jake, Ally, Sam – who had come to help out.

Rachel had moved in with him almost a month ago, and it was amazing how he wasn't lonely anymore. He was engaged to a wonderful woman who he hope to grow old with.

Which was why he was standing in this particular doorway. It wasn't just any doorway. It was the doorway to the nursery. Rachel hadn't seen it yet, he'd sworn her off of this end of the hallway. She wasn't even allowed within a ten foot radius of the doorway. Not because he didn't trust her or love her or anything, but because he wanted to surprise her with it when it was absolutely perfect.

They'd wanted to know the gender – it was a boy. A little boy. He smiled at that. His mother had been so hoping for another granddaughter… he'd told her maybe next time. For now, little Amber was the only girl in the family.

Along with the help of Dean, Sam, Elliot, Michael, Noah, Jake, and whoever else had stopped by, they'd managed to build an entire nursery by scratch in just six days. The crib had been hand-made by Dean and Noah, the two with the greatest love for woodwork. Michael had done the dresser and the changing table. They'd installed a light wood chair rail that divided the room in half. They then painted the top half a light green and the bottom half a light brown. Jake, the artist, had painstakingly painted a crown molding of little cartoon dinosaurs in dark brown across the top of the room. The dinosaurs matched the bedding he and Rachel had chosen for the crib.

All of the wood was a light oak, sanded and polished to perfection. He had personally carved five letters out of the wood and hung them in a staggered pattern over the crib. They spelled the name of the baby – Ryder. He smiled in satisfaction, knowing that the nursery had only one thing left for him to do. He took the rug out of the closet and spread it on the wooden floor. It was a cartoon-type dinosaur thing, bordered in light brown, with a light green background and dark green dinosaur cartoon animals. It was peaceful, and damn he say it, cute. There was a shelf over the changing table, and reaching into the closet, he pulled out a small cardboard box.

From it he lifted Connie's gift and placed it on the shelf.

It looked perfect.

"Jare?"

He turned to find Paige beside him. She smiled as soon as she saw the nursery. "Wow," she commented, linking her arm through his. "You guys really outdid yourselves."

Jared smiled and bent to kiss the top of her head. "Yeah, I guess we did," he sighed.

Paige gazed at the marble statue. "Connie sure does surprise sometimes, doesn't she?"

He nodded.

"Can I ask you something?" he said after a while of just standing there.

"Anything," Paige said, leaning into his side.

"Are you ever afraid still?"

She looked up at him, her expression guarded until she let her guard drop to show her quivering lip. "All the time, Jared. I see a water tower, and I just…"

"Freeze," he supplied when she hesitated.

"Yeah, freeze," she agreed, nodding. "I used to be comfortable in water. But I can't be in cold water anymore. It's gotten a little easier recently. But for a second, I just imagine that I'm back there, and we're both dying again."

"I know."

"Do you?"

"All the time, baby cakes." He sighed heavily. "I still have nightmares. I don't sleep well anymore."

"Me, either," she sighed. "Unless Dean is with me. It _is _getting a little better, though."

Jared suddenly looked uncomfortable. "Paige, I think… I think I'm going crazy."

Paige was surprised. "I think we're all a little messed up in the head, Jare," she said, attempting to illicit a smile. It didn't work. "What makes you say that?"

"I dream things when I'm awake."

"Like what?"

"I see him Paige. Everywhere."

"See who?"

Before he could answer, the flood of people came up the stairs, Rachel in the front and blindfolded. They led her to the room and removed the blindfold, separating the two troubled cousins. Everyone was grinning and laughing. Rachel threw her arms around Jared's neck, and he hugged her back, kissing her and laughing with the rest of his family. For a moment, though, his eyes met Paige's over the top of Rachel's head, his eyes grave and serious.

They said what Paige needed to hear, expressed the word he hadn't gotten to say. She knew what he had meant, what had been on the tip of his tongue. The anguish in his steely blue/gray gaze spoke volumes.

_Christopher._

Dean put his arm around her, and she smiled up at him. Their son moved, kicking her rib so hard she almost felt it crack. She winced slightly but relaxed into Dean's side. Her brother had been silent as of la…

_Strong, just like his mama, _Christopher's voice said softly in the back of her mind, almost as if he was mournful to break his long silence.

…te. So much for that.

_You never were gone, were you? _she asked warily, exasperated.

_No… I just stayed quiet because you seemed to want me to._

_What are you?_

He was silent.

* * *

April passed in a whirlwind of birthdays, hunts, family parties, long nights, and early mornings. The weather was warming, though there was probably one good blizzard left that everyone was waiting for. It was nearing planting season again, which meant hiring more hands to work the fields. On the days that he was home, Dean was out in the fields from sunup to sundown trailing the cattle.

Owen learned to care for Patch and spent nearly every waking moment doing so. Sammy was talking more and more as time went on, even for his younger age. He could almost form sentences now that his birthday was getting closer. Brody was getting steadier on his feet every day, and had started to say things like "mama", "papa", "cup", and "leep". No one quite knew what that meant, but it was probably something to do with sleep, seeing as he was exhausted most of the time he said it. Thanks to Levi's medicine, he hadn't had a major attack since his visit to the hospital.

Both couples were happy. Sam and Ally had started looking for a house in town, and oftentimes spent weekends looking around, taking Levi with them, and sometimes taking all the kids to lessen Paige's strain, seeing as she was well into the third trimester and about two months away from having Jace.

By May came the celebration of Sam's birthday on the second, and little Sammy's on the twelfth. The parties were just as fun as Jared's had been, though not quite as crowded. Their families had sort of moved in for a week between the two birthday parties, which had been lots of fun for the everyone, as it gave them time to spend together.

But, as all things go, happiness couldn't last forever.

Dean and Sam got a call that they were needed on a hunt in Minnesota. People were disappearing without a trace.

* * *

**Thunder Creek, Wyoming**  
May 13, 2006

"Dean, just be careful, okay?" Paige said as she helped him pack his duffel. She could hear her boys downstairs playing with Noah and Michael, who had stopped by for the weekend. Sammy's birthday had ended late last night, and they would need to be put down to bed here pretty soon.

Dean reached over to brush his fingers down her cheek. "I'm always careful, Paige," he promised as she stuffed in the last jacket and cinched the bag closed. He pulled her into a hug and kissed her for quite some time.

When he finally pulled away, there was a slight tear on her cheek.

"Don't cry," he whispered, wiping it away.

"I'm sorry, pregnancy hormones," she defended herself, kissing his cheek. "I'm unusually weepy."

He chuckled at that. She was, it was true. She'd cried over the most ridiculous things for the last few days, he'd noticed. "I'll be back before you even notice I'm gone," he promised. "It'll probably be a few days, tops."

"I'm just glad you were here for Sammy's birthday," she sighed, hugging him again.

"Me, too, honey," he agreed, kissing the crown of her head. "Noah and Michael are going to be staying here." He grabbed her shoulders and waited for her to look up at him. "No nightmares. Okay?"

"I'll do my best," she sighed, smiling for his benefit.

"Okay," he said, shouldering his duffel. "I'll go put this in the Impala, then."

Paige followed him downstairs and went into the living room, where her family was waiting.

"Hey, baby cakes," Noah said with a huge grin, Sammy's hands pressing onto his nose, seeing as the two-year-old was up on his back and squealing with delight while the giant spun circles. On one arm hung Levi, on the other, Owen, and Brody was cheerfully destroying the Lego towers that had been built now that nobody was watching him.

"Hi mommy," Owen said cheerfully as he swung around, clinging to Noah's forearm for dear life.

"Hello, son," she said, laughing at the lot of them. She sat beside Michael who was getting the whole thing on video camera. "I swear, you two are just a couple of giant kids."

"Guilty," Noah agreed in a sing-song voice.

Michael turned the camera on her. "And here we have the lovely mommy of this rowdy bunch, minus Levi, of course," he said for the camera's benefit. "Looking lovely, as usual, and man, you are huge!"

She slapped him and rubbed her stomach. "Not very smart to offend a pregnant lady, cousin dearest," she warned, smiling sweetly at the camera.

"Duly noted. All listeners, please note that the cameraman is now pointing his camera back to the lovely children."

Paige laughed and rolled her eyes. "Oh, the things I put up with from family," she mused.

"Mommy, what's for dinner?" Owen inquired, having detached himself from Noah's arm. He bounced up onto the couch beside her.

She smiled and ruffled her five-year-old's blonde hair. "Pot roast, buddy. It's in the oven right now."

"Do I like pot roast?" he inquired, cocking his head to the side curiously.

"You _love _pot roast," she promised. "I put in extra carrots just for you."

Michael had switched off the camera and was now playing horsey with the boys, crawling around on the ground with Noah while the kids piled onto their backs. Owen grinned, pecked her cheek, bent down to kiss her belly, and ran off to join the play again.

Ally sat next to her, looking slightly flushed.

Paige chuckled. "I see Sam said a thorough goodbye to you as well," she teased.

"Oh, shut up," Ally retorted, grinning sheepishly and gently shoving her friend's shoulder. She sobered abruptly. "I hope they aren't gone for too long."

"That's what we get for marrying heroes," Paige mused, absently rubbing her belly again. "Or hunters, for that matter. They're never around when you need them." She was teasing, of course. The nice thing about hunters was that they would make themselves around when you needed them. Noble trait, that.

Dean and Sam entered from the kitchen, looking weary despite the early hour.

"Boys, come say goodbye," Dean called, crouching down to accept the flood of tiny bodies.

Levi was closest and raced over to cling to his father first, the two of them whispering to each other.

He held out his arms, and Owen and Sammy both raced to him and hugged him tight. He hugged them back just as tightly. "I love you boys," he told them, kissing them both on the forehead.

"Love you too, Daddy," they said in unison, Sammy's response more 'Lub you, daddy' but close enough.

"Alright, while I'm gone, you're man of the house," he told Owen, gently tweaking his nose. "You take care of your mommy for me, okay?"

Owen nodded excitedly. "Okay," he agreed.

"I howp?" Sammy said hopefully, green eyes earnest.

"Sure, little man, you can help," he told his son, pulling him close to hug him again. "You help Owen take care of mommy for me, okay?"

"Otay," the two-year-old agreed, smiling brightly.

"Owen, do daddy's a favor, too, okay?"

"Anything, daddy," Owen said instantly, arms still around his neck.

"I want you to talk to baby Jace for me every night, like I do. Tell him that he has to get better and that we all love him very, very much, okay?"

Owen nodded. "Can I sing to him?" he wondered.

"Sure, if you want to. And I know mommy will love it."

That made the little boy happy. "Okay, daddy," he whispered, hugging him.

"And the two of you watch out for your brother, alright?"

They nodded understanding.

"I'll be home soon, you two," he promised, hugging them for the last time. "Lee, come over here and give your uncle a hug." The little mop-head teetered over and he embraced the little guy tightly while his sons globbed to Sam. "See you soon, okay, Lee?"

"Otay," Levi agreed brightly, kissing his cheek. "Lub you, Unca Dee."

Dean laughed. "Love you too, buddy." He released his nephew and lastly scooped up his one-year-old. "Hey, Brodybear," he said, rubbing noses with him. Brody cooed and put his hands on Dean's cheeks. "Kiss?" Brody smacked his cheeks gently with his hands and giggled, and he kissed the baby on both cheeks and then the top of his head. "Daddy loves you, baby boy," he said, squeezing him. "You be good." Even though Brody couldn't understand him, it felt good to talk to him anyway.

He put Brody back on the ground, shook Noah and Michael's hands, bent to kiss Ally on the cheek, and kissed his wife one last time.

The group waved them off as they drove down the drive, until they disappeared from sight in the rearview mirror.

"So, where are we headed?" Sam asked, drumming his fingers on the dash.

"Minnesota."

"Great," he sighed, rubbing his face. "This is going to be a long drive. You mind if I sleep? We can stitch halfway there."

Dean shrugged. "Doesn't bother me," he said, yawning absently, and no wonder – it was only six thirty in the morning. "I just want to get there by this afternoon."

Sam snorted and stretched, leaning against the door. "The way you drive, we will," he said absently. He pulled a picture out of his pocket and tipped the visor down, clipping it in place. Before he put the visor back up, Dean saw clearly the picture Paige had taken at his birthday, with Ally at his side and Levi on his lap as they grinned at the camera, having just blown out the candles on his birthday cake. The hat on Levi's head was lopsided and the three of them looked happy.

Dean smiled and Sam flipped the visor back up, quickly falling asleep, his snoring filling the car. Taking advantage of his cluelessness, Dean put in AC/DC and played it as loud as he dared, but not before tipping his own visor down to smile at a snapshot of his own family. Even now, he couldn't believe the strength of the love he felt for his wife and his three little boys.

* * *

**Hibbing, Minnesota**  
May 13, 2006 (night)

Evan McKay pulled the covers closer, watching the screen with wide eyes. There was a Godzilla marathon on TV, and his favorite movie was playing when it was interrupted by a loud squeak from outside. He turned away from the TV towards the window and got out of bed to see what it was. As he pulled back the curtains, all he could see was his neighbor, Alvin Jenkins, taking the trash out to the dumpster.

Alvin was a bachelor in his early thirties, living in the apartment room to the McKay's. Evan did know much about him other than that Alvin greeted his mother every morning when she left for work and was a nice man towards the boy and his mother.

He watched at Alvin threw the trash bag into the dumpster and noticed an old beat-up truck with a camper attached to the bed. As Alvin turned to walk back to the apartment complex, he stopped as something scratched behind him. Turning, he saw nothing and continued to walk back to his room when he heard it again. Evan watched curiously from the window as Alvin kneeled beside a car to look at it.

Startled, the man jumped to his feet, only to be grabbed and pulled down. He was then pulled under the car as he screamed, Evan watching horrified as his neighbor disappeared. Then he closed the curtains as the loud squeak echoed through the parking lot.

* * *

**Hibbing, Minnesota**  
May 14, 2006

Mrs. McKay was with her son while the two police officers asked Evan questions. She didn't understand why they needed to; others had arrived the previous day, and Evan was up watching movies like he always did over the weekend.

Dean and Sam were tired and cranky from the drive, short amount of sleep, and lack of coffee they'd gotten this morning. Not to mention the state police uniform was damned uncomfortable. Both of them preferred suits, though Dean would die before admitting that particular fact out loud. All the same, they listened with rapt attention to the woman and her son.

"I know you're just doing your job," she said to them, "but the police have been here already. I just don't see why we have to go through this again. The more he tells it, the more he believes it's true."

Sam sighed and took off his hat, the normal uniform for state police. "Mrs. McKay, we know you spoke with the local authorities."

Dean also took off his hat and looked down at his notepad. "But, uh, this seems like a matter for the state police," he added.

"Don't worry about how crazy it sounds, Evan," Sam said to him. "Just tell us what you saw." He realized with a kind of shock that this kid reminded him of Levi. Not because of the face or anything – hell, his own kid wasn't even two yet – but because of the eyes. Big, brown eyes. Damn, that made him miss his little boy, that little ball of never-ending energy that was so dear to his heart.

Evan sighed. "I was up late… watching TV… when I heard this weird noise," he said hesitantly.

"What did it sound like?"

"It sounded like… a monster."

Sam turned to Dean while Mrs. McKay looked at Evan. Was the kid telling the truth? Maybe. But then again, most kids thought anything "scary" was caused by a monster.

"Tell the officers what you were watching on TV," she demanded, an air of annoyance suddenly about her. It was clear that the woman did not believe her son.

Evan looked at them sheepishly. "Um… Godzilla verses Mothra," he admitted reluctantly.

Dean chuckled. "That's my favorite Godzilla movie. So much better than the original, huh?" he quipped, so tired he wasn't really remembering he was supposed to be a serious cop.

Evan smiled and nodded agreement. "Totally."

"Yeah, he likes the remake," he said, nodding his head towards Sam, suggesting that his little brother in fact was a lame geek like he'd been telling people for years.

"Uck," he muttered. That got the kid brownie points in Dean's book, big time.

Dean gave Sam a sad look and nodded in agreement with the boy. Sam cleared his throat and Dean looked back at his notepad, trying not to smile, smack his brother upside the head, or do both.

"Evan," Sam said to get the conversation back on track, "did you see what this thing was?"

He shook his head. "No. But I saw it grab Mr. Jenkins. It pulled him underneath the car."

"Then what?"

Evan fidgeted, clearly uncomfortable as he admitted, "It took him away."

Dean tapped his pen on the notepad, glancing up at Evan. This wasn't sounding like their kind of gig, but still… it was a little weird.

"I heard the monster leave. It made this really scary sound."

"What did it sound like?"

"This… whining growl." The kid looked kind of freaked when he said it, not really wanting to say any more.

Whining growl? Boy, that was descriptive. Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes and realized he really, really needed a cup of goddamn coffee.

Sam nodded and glanced at Dean before looking back at Mrs. McKay. "Thanks for your time."

* * *

**Kugel's Keg, Hibbing, Minnesota**  
May 14, 2006

The bar was full that night with bikers and people looking for a drink after a long day. Dean and Sam chose a small table furthest from the pool tables and the crowd. While Sam looked through John's journal, Dean played with the dart board, listening to his brother while he tossed the darts. He was bored out of his right mind, and right about now, wishing he was at home tucking his boys into bed.

"So the local police have now ruled out foul play," Sam said, knowing his brother was paying attention even though it didn't seem like it. Dean had hid dead center on the target eight times in a row, now, and seemed to be getting bored with that, too. "Apparently there were signs of a struggle."

"I don't know. They could be right; it could be just a kidnapping," Dean replied, throwing another dart, getting it to stick right next to the previous one in the dead center of the board. "Maybe this isn't our kind of gig."

"Yeah, maybe not. Accept for this. Dad marked the area."

Dean stopped throwing – he was bored anyway – and walked over, looking at the page in the journal that Sam was on. It was a page he recognized, considering how many damn times he'd looked at the journal in the last year.

"Possible hunting grounds for phantom attackers," Sam suggested, motioning to their dad's scribbled notes.

"Why would he even do that?" Dean took a sip of his beer. There was no solid evidence that there was _anything _weird out here. Just a bunch of trees and a stretch of road. That about covered it.

"Well, he found a lot of folklore about a dark figure that comes out at night, grabs people, and then vanishes. And he found this, too." Sam flipped the page and tapped to another of their dad's scribbled notes. "This county has more missing persons per capita than anywhere else in the state."

"That is weird," Dean said as he walked back towards the dart board to collect the darts. "But don't phantom attackers usually snatch people from their beds? Jenkins was taken from a parking lot." It wasn't making any solid sense at all. This wasn't a pattern that was supposed to exist – and the supernatural baddies always followed the patterns.

"Well, there are all kinds. I mean, Spring Heeled Jacks, phantom gassers, they take people from anywhere, anytime. Look, Dean, I don't know if this is our kind of gig, either," Sam insisted, suddenly thinking of Levi. He pushed the boy's image aside, focusing on their hunt that wasn't a hunt.

Dean grabbed the darts off the board and threw them again, hitting dead center with every one for the tenth time that night. "Yeah, we should ask around more tomorrow," he suggested absently, collecting and throwing the darts again.

"Right," Sam sighed, rubbing his forehead in an attempt to ease his growing headache. They'd been getting worse since his encounter with Max… he shuddered at the thought of the other psychic kid. Not exactly a happy thought, that one. And, it was something that Dean refused to talk about, least of all with him. Ally had had to Heimlich it out of him, and even then, he'd been reluctant.

Sighing, he took out his wallet and placed a ten on the table. "I saw a motel about five miles back," he announced tiredly, rubbing his eyes. It had been a long day, and sleep was sounding good right about now. He needed to call his family and say goodnight, too.

Dean turned to him, incredulous. "Dude, it's like, seven o'clock," he pointed out.

"We should get an early start." He stood and closed the journal after organizing the papers inside.

"You really know how to have fun, don't you, grandma?" he chortled, shaking his head.

Sam just smiled and Dean threw the last dart before grabbing his jacket off the back of the chair.

"Fine. I'll meet you outside; I gotta take a leak."

As Dean walked to the restroom, Sam walked outside to the parking lot. The first thing he noticed was a beat-up red truck with the camper on the bed, but he ignored it. More bikers pulled in for the night, not paying any attention to Sam, and soon he was alone in the parking lot. The road was deserted as the night dragged on and the only light came from the bar and the lone streetlight further down.

When he got to the Impala, he noticed that something wasn't right. It was too quiet, the only sound being the chirping of a cricket. Then something scratched against the pavement. He set the journal on the trunk of the Impala, took out a flashlight and looked around. Not finding anything, he kneeled down to looked under a car, shining the light under it.

An orange tabby was sitting under it and when Sam flashed the light on it, it hissed and swiped a paw at him. Sam jumped and the cat fled as he laughed at himself, slowly getting to his feet. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he went back to the Impala to unlock the door. He'd been scared by a cat – a friggin cat. He was not telling Dean… he'd be the brunt of many jokes for weeks.

There was another sound behind him, one he recognized well. All the hair on the back of his neck stood on end, and he spun into a defensive stance. Something hard whammed into the corner of his jaw, and felt himself hit the concrete before everything went black. His last thought was of his fiancé and his son.

…

Dean walked out of the bar and towards the Impala, passing the rows of cars. He glanced at the tabby as it licked its paw on the hood of a white car. Shaking his head, he headed for the Impala. He noticed the journal sitting on the trunk and knew that something was wrong. Sam wouldn't just leave it out in the open; no way.

He went to the door and opened it, hoping to find Sam. His little brother wasn't there. He closed the door and looked around but couldn't find him anywhere. Sam wasn't in the parking lot, and he wasn't in the bar, either, because he'd have known his brother's Sasquatch frame anywhere.

As a large group of bikers walked out of the bar. Seeking to double-check, Dean jogged over towards a couple.

"Hey, have you guys been out here in the last hour or so?" he asked, slightly desperate.

They shook their heads and he asked another man, only to get the same response. He looked around the parking lot again and again. Sam wasn't there.

"Sam!" he called. When his brother didn't answer, he kept calling. "Sammy!"

His searching became frantic and Dean looked everywhere for his little brother. _This can't be happening. _This was his worst nightmare, and sent him flashing back to the younger years, when Sam had run away to Stanford.

"Sam!"

Then he noticed the street camera on one of the lights along the road and he walked out to the middle of the street, looking for his brother.

"Sam."

Oh, shit. _Ally is going to kill me_, he thought.

He needed to go to the cops.

For once, he wished Noah and Michael were with him. It would make this whole thing a hell of a lot easier. He pulled out his phone and dialed home, praying that he wasn't going to kill anyone from fright.

* * *

**Thunder Creek, Wyoming**  
May 14, 2006

The days were getting cold again. Paige washed the dishes, glaring up at the sky, sensing that a blizzard was due to hit anytime now. She sighed and observed the kids racing each other around the yard, kicking a soccer ball between them.

Despite Dean and Sam being gone, it had been a nice day. Noah and Michael spent the entire day playing with the kids and keeping them occupied, allowing Paige to catch up on household chores while Ally caught up with the grocery shopping and other errands. Her wonderful cousins had even put the kids down for their afternoon naps without a fuss. It was bliss to have two extra pairs of hands to ease the burden, even just for a weekend.

She finished up the last plate and put it in the dishwasher, turning the machine on and drying her hands with a dish towel, lost in thought.

Jace kicked her, the first time he'd done so since this morning. She smiled and pressed her hand to the spot. "Well, hello there," she said to him. "Nice of you to join us. That was a long nap, huh?"

He kicked again, against her stomach instead of her ribs this time.

"Oh, boy, that was a big one," she laughed, cradling her stomach in her hands. She sighed heavily and leaned back against the counter. "Shall we go sit out on the porch and read for a while, baby boy?"

She dragged her tired body onto the porch swing and sat down with a book, groaning with relief as the pressure was gone from her feet. It felt heavenly. She propped the book on her belly and flipped to the page she'd left off on. _The Pillars of the Earth_ was a good read, whenever she sat down long enough to get really into it. Reading wasn't really on her priority list at the moment. She did read parts of _Harry Potter_ to Owen every night before he went to bed, but that was about it.

Her mind wandered while she read, zoning out as she focused only on the book.

One sound, however, roused her from her concentration about an hour after she'd sat down. Someone was crying, and crying loudly. She bookmarked her page and stood, setting the book on the swing and hurrying down the steps to find Brody in tears, clutching at the back of his head. He wobbled straight for her, and she scooped him up, holding him close. She felt his head, alarmed to discover a slight bump.

"Owen, what happened?" she said sternly, looking down at the ashamed five-year-old. She looked up at Noah and Michael, who stood quietly looking a bit uncomfortable themselves. "Look at me, Owen."

"I hit him with my bike," Owen admitted quietly, folding his arms.

"You ran intohim? Why?" she demanded, grabbing his chin and pulling his head up so she could see his eyes. "Why would you run into your brother, Owen?"

"It's Brody's fault!" he protested, tears welling. "I was just riding my bike and he cut in front of me and I didn't turn, I just hit his little car and it tipped it over and he bonked his head, that's all!"

"Why didn't you turn away?" She still held his chin in a firm grip, not allowing her boy to look away.

"It serves him right for not getting out of the way in time!" Owen cried, yanking his chin free.

"Inside, right now," she said sternly, pointing. "You go straight to a chair and you sit there for five minutes. Go. Now."

Owen stormed off, slamming the door behind him.

"Can you watch them?" she asked, waving at the other kids. Noah and Michael both nodded, backing down in the face of her pregnant-and-pissed-off-mommy front. She checked the back of Brody's head again, finding no blood, just a bump. He had calmed down slightly, not just quietly crying and sucking on his fist.

"You're okay, baby boy," she whispered, kissing his forehead. "Can mommy put you down?"

He nodded slowly, and she set him back on his feet.

"I'll be right back," she promised her cousins before following her son to the kitchen. Owen was sitting in a chair like she'd instructed with his arms crossed and a pout on his face. "Do you know why you are in trouble?"

"No," he retorted sullenly, not looking at her.

"You're not only in trouble because you hit your brother with your bike. You are in trouble because you tried to blame it on him and you lied instead of just telling mommy that it was an accident and that you didn't mean to do it. If you had told mommy that, I would not have gotten as mad at you as I am right now."

Owen looked away from her.

"Look at mommy," she ordered firmly, satisfied when his eyes reluctantly rose to meet hers. "Are you listening to me?"

"Yes," he mumbled.

"Good. You will sit here for five minutes. I'm going to set the timer. When the timer goes off, you can get up. And when you do, you will apologize to your brother for knocking him over. Understood?"

Owen nodded and looked down again.

Paige sighed and stood, heading back out of the house. She knew Owen wouldn't move. He knew that would only get him in twice as much trouble. She picked Brody back up as soon as they were outside and checked the back of his head, relieved to see that the swelling was going down. "How hard did he hit his head?" she asked her cousins.

"Clunked it pretty hard on the cement, but not too hard," Noah replied instantly, reaching up to rub Brody's back. "I wouldn't worry about a concussion or anything. He'll be okay." His eyes shifted to the house. "How much trouble is he in?"

"Time-out for lying," she replied, shrugging. "I don't believe in physical punishment, so… time-out chair is the next-best thing."

Noah nodded and patted her shoulder. "Come on, Sammy, let's play airplane," he suggested, scooping the delighted little boy up. "You too, Levi. Come on, grab my arm!"

Paige returned to the swing. When the timer went off, Owen emerged from the kitchen and stopped in front of her, eyes downcast.

"I'm sorry, mommy," he whispered, tears trickling down his cheeks. "I shouldn't have lied." He spun and ran down the steps, not stopping until he was by Brody. She couldn't hear the words, but trusted that they were genuine. He then marched back over to her, arms behind his back and head hanging.

"Owen," she said, gently, cupping a hand under his chin and pulling his head up. "Baby, look at mommy. What's the matter?"

"I'm sorry you don't love me anymore," Owen choked, trying to pull away. Paige wouldn't let him, pulling him into her arms and hugging him as tight as she could.

"Owen, I will _never _stop loving you."

Owen looked up at her, and she wiped the tears from his cheeks.

"Okay?" she pressed, smiling down at him. "You will always be my baby. Nothing you ever do will make me stop loving you."

He nodded and snuggled into her arms.

Paige started to swing absently, the motion soothing and calming them both, especially with her rubbing his back.

"Mommy?" Owen said after a while, his head resting on her shoulder, forehead pressed against her neck.

"Hmm?"

"When's daddy gonna be home?"

"Soon, sweetheart."

"It's my turn for movie night."

"That it is, little man. What do you want to watch after dinner tonight?"

"Hercules," he replied automatically. "I haven't seen it yet."

"That's a good choice."

Owen was silent for a while. He looked up suddenly and pointed. "Look, mommy," he said excitedly, tears forgotten. "It's snowing!"

Paige sighed inwardly. Looks like that blizzard is finally here, she thought. Sure enough, within minutes, the icy wind was whipping the flakes around like crazy.

Noah jogged up the steps, the kids in his arms. "Time to go inside," he said matter-of-factly while Michael picked up all the toys and brought them all inside.

She agreed, her and Owen following everyone to the warmth of the interior. Ally got back just before the real storm hit, the group of them huddling in the warm kitchen over the delicious pot roast Paige and Ally had made.

Paige was putting the dishes in the dishwasher while the kids started Hercules in the living room. The phone rang, and, cursing under her breath, she scrubbed her hands hurriedly dry on her pant leg and scooped it off the cradle.

"Hello?" she said in a business-like tone.

"It's me," Dean replied. His voice sounded off.

This couldn't be good.

_Something's wrong_, Christopher's voice piped up. She told him to shut up.

"Hey," she said cheerfully. "How's the hunt going?"

Dean was silent.

"Dean?"

"Sam's gone," he finally choked out. "I think he's been kidnapped."

Paige thanked the gods that she was standing by the kitchen table, because otherwise, she would have collapsed right onto the floor instead of into a chair. She got the details, wished him luck, and hung up the phone.

When she finally told Ally, she'd never seen her friend more panicked in her life.

But they were literally snowed in as the storm raged outside.

Dean was on his own.

* * *

**Sheriff's Department**  
Hibbing, Minnesota  
May 15, 2006

Dean parked the Impala outside the sheriff's department and grabbed the badge off the passenger seat. He walked inside the small office to the police woman at the front desk and showed her the badge. She looked it over.

"So what can we do for you, Officer Washington?" she asked, handing him back the badge.

"I'm working a missing persons," he said simply, praying she wouldn't ask too many questions.

She looked confused. "I didn't know the Jenkins case was being covered by the state police."

He shook his head. "Oh, no. Someone else. Actually, it's my cousin. We were having a few at this bar down by the highway… and I haven't seen him since."

"Does your cousin have a drinking problem?"

"Sam?" Dean smiled. "Two beers and he's doing karaoke." Sam would have smacked him for that, but hey, it was totally true.

She smiled back.

"He wasn't drunk," he explained. "He was taken."

She nodded and turned to the desk, Dean following her.

"What's his name?" she asked, pulling up the police data base.

"Winchester," he replied. "Sam Winchester."

"Like the rifle?"

He nodded. "Like the rifle." He silently hoped that she wouldn't do a general search and be greeted by a photo of himself. That would be bad. He doubted even Noah and Mikey could get his sorry ass out of that one.

She typed in his name and ran the search. When it was pulled up, she looked over it. "Samuel Winchester. So you know his brother Dean Winchester died in St. Louis? Was suspected for murder?"

"Yeah, Dean, kind of the black sheep of the family. Handsome, though," he added, attempting to throw in a little humor.

She just nodded and looked for anything saying that Sam was missing, but found nothing. "He's not showing up in any current field reports."

"Oh, I already have a lead. I saw a surveillance camera out by the highway.

The officer – he realized he didn't know her name – was nodding and smiling at him. "Uh-huh. County traffic cam?" she guessed.

"Right, yeah. I'm thinking that the camera picked up whatever took him. Or whoever," he added at her puzzled expression. Oops. Slip of the tongue. He shoved down his panicky side and took a deep breath, releasing it slowly so she wouldn't notice. "Uh, officer…?"

"Deputy Hudak. Kathleen Hudak," she introduced herself, reaching across her desk to shake his hand.

He shook it in return and smiled.

"I have access to the traffic cam footage down at the county works department. But…" she trailed off with a sigh and stood. "Let's do this the right way." She grabbed a piece of paper off the back counter and put it on a clipboard, handing it to Dean. "What don't you fill out a missing persons report and sit tight for a while."

Dean looked at it and back at her. "Officer, look. He's family. I mean, I kind of look out for the kid. You got to let me come with you," he pleaded. Please. This is my brother. My _family_. _Too bad I can't tell her that,_ he thought darkly. Damn that asshole shapeshifter.

Kathleen smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry, I can't do that."

"Well, tell me something. Your county has its fair share of missing persons… any of them come back?"

She looked away. Oho, so he'd hit a nerve. Good. That would work to his advantage.

"Sam's my responsibility. And he's coming back. I'm bringing him back," he pressed, his tone broking no argument.

Their eyes met, and he cheered inwardly. After all, the only person on earth who could win an argument with him was his wife. And sometimes, when he wasn't being a bitch, Sam could win too.

That thought immediately soured his mood.

_Sammy, where the hell are you?_

* * *

**Outside Hibbing, Minnesota**  
May 15, 2006

Sam's vision slowly started to clear and his eyes adjusted to the poorly lit room. The first thing he noticed was that he was in a cage, too small for him to stand in or stretch out fully. He slowly stood, keeping his knees bent to compensate for the low ceiling, and tried rattling the back of the cage, hoping it wasn't strong enough to hold his strength. When it didn't move, he gave up and turned to the other cage beside him. A man was lying on the floor, sprawled out on the thin mat of straw and hay.

Sam watched him for a long moment, thinking he was dead, and began looking for a way out. all he could think about was his family.

He had to get out of here. There was no way he was laying down and dying. He'd never do that to Dean. His brother was looking for him, he knew that as sure as he breathed. Going down easy wasn't the Winchester way.

And he wouldn't ever do that to Ally, or their son, either. Besides, Paige would totally kick his ass. That is, if there was anything left after Dean was through with him…

Sighing, he closed his eyes and summoned a mental picture of his family.

Hopefully, it would be enough to keep him going.

With new resolve, he tugged harder…

* * *

Hibbing, Minnesota

May 15, 2006

Dean sat outside the county works department while Officer Kathleen Hudak went to get the footage from the surveillance cameras. He told her he'd wait outside so he didn't get in her way. He really found it best to be outside so no one would recognize him as Dean Winchester and arrest him. If that happened, he had no chance at finding Sam. Not to mention, Paige would be pissed.

"Greg," Kathleen called as she walked over. "I think we got something."

He stood at the sound of his alias and she handed him the footage from the cameras. Hope surged through him, and he quickly squashed it down, swallowing and waiting to hear what she had to say.

"These traffic cams take an image every three seconds as part as the AMBER alert program. These images were all taken around the time Sam disappeared," she explained, pointing at the pictures.

Dean flipped through them. Just a bunch of empty road. "This isn't really what I'm looking for," he said, impatient and downtrodden.

Kathleen was practically bouncing up and down with excitement. She nodded at the stack. "Just wait," she said vaguely.

He flipped another page to find a pickup truck with a camper on the bed.

"This one was taken right after Sam left the bar. Look at the back end of that thing."

He did and glanced back at her, wondering where the heck she was going with this. This wasn't helping.

"Now look at the plates."

He flipped to the last page and looked closely at the picture of the zoomed in license plates. "The plates look new. It's probably stolen," he realized, eyebrows shooting up.

She nodded. "So whoever's driving that rust bucket must be involved," she concluded with a half-smile.

Dean looked over his shoulder as a black van turned the corner. The engine made a loud squeak as the breaks were applied.

"Hear that?" he asked.

Kathleen looked at the truck, narrowing her eyes. She looked up at the handsome policeman, wondering what the hell he meant by that. "Yeah," she said hesitantly. _Why_? she mentally tacked on.

"Kind of a whining growl, don't you think?" Dean said absently, frowning.

She was confused now, but shrugged it off. "Sure."

"I'll be damned," he muttered. Something was starting to make sense.

Could it be a creature? Or something else, something more…familiar?

That wasn't a very happy thought.

* * *

**Outside Hibbing, Minnesota**  
May 15, 2006

Sam had reached an all-new level of frustration. This damn cage was practically bulletproof. He'd tried _everything_, anything he could think of. But the damn thing never budged. Instead of letting panic take over, he just kept on fighting. He gripped the top of the cage, lifting his feet off the ground and coiling his body, throwing himself forward with all his strength, his boots thudding against the cage door. It didn't budge. Big surprise. He did it again and again, until falling, exhausted, after the fifth try.

Well, so much for that. Didn't look like he was going to be able to muscle his way out of this one. Damn.

In the other cage, the man slowly got to his knees, awaken by the racket Sam had been making.

"You're alive?" Sam asked, surprised. He'd seriously thought the guy was dead.

"Huh?"

Sam leaned forward, concerned. "Hey, you okay?" he asked worriedly, brow furrowing as the man struggled to a sitting position.

"Does it look like I'm doing okay?" the man snapped, peering at him darkly.

"Where are we?"

The other man glanced around before shrugging. "I don't know. Country I think. Smells like the country," he mumbled, almost to himself.

"You're Alvin Jenkins, aren't you?" Sam guessed.

The man's head snapped up, staring at him for a long moment before he nodded. "Yeah," he admitted.

Sam sighed and shook his head. Some rescue party he'd turned out to be. "Wow. I was looking for you," he said, pulling his knees up and resting his elbows on them.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Well, no offense, but this is a piss-poor rescue."

That was true. But he refused to give up hope. "My brother's out there right now, too. He's looking for us, so…" he trailed off, shrugging. This guy wouldn't understand. Dean would find him. Dean _always _found him. It was both endearing and scary at the same time.

Alvin glanced at him in disbelief. "So, he's not going to find us. We're in the middle of nowhere. Waiting for them to come back and do god-knows-what with us," he snapped sarcastically.

That got his attention. "What are they? Have you seen them?" he demanded.

Jenkins looked at him like he was crazy. "What're you talking about?" he snapped.

"Whatever grabbed us, what do they look like?"

The barn door opened just then and Alvin moved to the back of his cage. "See for yourself," he muttered just loud enough for Sam to hear.

He turned as the door was opened and two figures in ponchos walked in, one carrying a plate of sausages, the other a steel rod. They banged it against the cage and Alvin and Sam moved to the back as the other used some sort of electronic device to open the door. He peered at them, shocked. Were his eyes deceiving him, or…?

"Don't you touch me!" Alvin growled at them.

They just set the plate down and closed the door afterwards. Sam moved back near the door to get a better look at his captors. The rod was banged against his cage. He backed away reflexively, wary of the thing's approach. He'd gotten a good look at their faces, and was shocked to his core.

"I'll be damned," he breathed. "They're just _people_."

"Yeah," Alvin said, eating the sausages. "What'd you expect?"

_Oh, buddy, you so don't want me to answer that question_, Sam thought darkly.

"How often do they feed you?" he asked, changing the subject. He honestly could care less but needed something to distract him.

"Once a day," he said, pointing to a small box on the support beam. "They use that thing to open the cage."

"And that's the only time you see them?"

"So far. But I'm waiting."

"Waiting for what?" Sam asked, standing to see if there was a way to open the door.

"Ned Beatty time, man."

Sam scoffed. "I think that's the least of your worries right now."

"Oh yeah?"

Sam glanced through the bars over his head and found a plastic tube leading to the door. "Yeah."

"What do you think they want then?"

He reached out a hand and grabbed it, using his weight to pull it down. "Depends on who they are," he said honestly, testing the tube with his weight.

"They're a bunch of psycho hillbilly rednecks, if you ask me. Looking for love in all the wrong places," Jenkins muttered.

Sam ignored him and held on to the tube with both hands, trying to get it free. Maybe it would weaken the door. It wasn't much hope, but it was enough to give him strength.

For now.

…

Four hours later, Sam sat alone, in his cage. Jenkins had just gotten killed, that much he knew. He stared at the gate holding him in this damn thing. He needed to get out of here. Now.

Or these damn people were going to kill him.

He fidgeted, and sent up a silent prayer to help Dean get here faster.

* * *

**Hibbing, Minnesota**  
May 16, 2006

If Sam had been truly religious, he would have said that God has listened to him that day. Not only had Kathleen discovered that Dean was not who he said he was, she had discovered that he was impersonating a police officer. And, despite him now being a 'criminal', she was helping him anyway.

Dean and Kathleen found the only turnoff for miles. Before she could say anything, Dean beat her to it.

"Wait, wait, wait. Pull over here," he ordered, pointing.

She pulled the car to the side of the road, peering down the road into the darkening trees. A faint drizzle had started to fall. She sighed and sat back, glancing at her passenger. They got out together to inspect it further.

"This is the first turn off I've seen so far," he said, excitement churning in his gut. His phone started to vibrate, so he pulled it out, glancing at the name. with a sigh and a silent apology, he turned it off, ignoring the call from his wife.

"Sorry. Wrong number," he explained, tucking the phone in his pocket. He tilted his head towards the road and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Come on, let's go."

"You stay here. I'll check it out," she countered, not pausing in her steps.

Dean stopped dead in his tracks. "No way." Hello, this chick was a woman. No friggin way he was letting her go up there alone.

"Hey, you're a civilian. And a felon, I think. I'm not taking you with me."

He looked down the road and back at her. "You're not going without me," he said stubbornly, holding his ground. It didn't matter who she was, or what sex she was, for that matter. No way. Nobody split up on hunts. Ever. That's how you got caught, cornered, or killed. Usually, all three.

She sighed and looked around. "All right. You _promise_ you won't get involved? You'll let me handle it?" she pressed.

He nodded. "Yeah, I promise," he said easily, shrugging.

She held out her hand. "Shake on it."

He smiled and took her hand. When he did, she drew out her handcuffs and snapped them on his wrist. He looked at her, incredulous. "Oh, come on." He should have known better. In that moment, she reminded him of his wife. That wasn't necessarily a good thing.

Dean could have fought her. He could have overpowered her. He could have knocked her out with a precise martial arts move, or knocked her flat on her ass and unlocked the handcuff from his wrist. Or, he could have handcuffed her to the damn door.

However, he was a guy. And no matter what – concerning humans, anyway – he was raised in the philosophy that you don't hit girls. So he followed her and let her handcuff _him _to the goddamn car.

"This is ridiculous," he muttered, turning to her as she walked away. She was signing her own death warrant. "Kathleen, I really think you're gonna need my help."

"I'll manage." She held up her keys, pressed the lock button, and continued. "Thank you."

Dean watched her walk away until she disappeared into the tree line. He looked at the handle and rattled the handcuffs. "I gotta start carrying paper clips," he sighed, rubbing his face.

…

Dean was still trying to find a way out of the handcuffs after nearly five minutes. He couldn't find any paper clips that could have fallen in his jacket or pockets, and he was about to give up when he noticed the antenna on the back of the cruiser. Desperately, he reached out to grab it, his fingers falling short by an inch. He huffed in annoyance.

_Why does Sam get to be the one with the gigantean arm length?_

He froze as a whining growl came from somewhere in the trees. Oh, shit. He needed to get off of this car, right now. He stretched farther, practically feeling his muscles stretching painfully as he strained towards the object.

"Son of a bitch," he growled, sweat breaking out on his brow.

The sound came closer, his adrenaline surging in response. _YES! _He got his middle finger around it, sliding down to the base, where he started to unscrew it as fast as he could. His arms felt like they would pop out of their sockets the further he stretched, but he kept himself stretched out anyway. It's not like he had a choice.

When he finally got it, relief surged through him. The antenna dropped to the pavement, and he plucked it off the ground easily, hastily snapping it in half. He used the pieces to free himself, his heart pounding as the growling got ever nearer before silencing. The footsteps were getting closer, and were nearly upon him by the time he got the last handcuff free, holding them in his hand and ducking around the front of the police car and high-tailing it for the cover of the bushes.

He watched, his heart pounding as two men walked down the road towards the car, wearing old plaid shirts and hunting vests. One of them tapped the other on the shoulder and pointed at the police cruiser as they walked towards it. When they got to the driver's side, Dean was gone, but they hadn't expected him to be there in the first place. Thank god for flexibility. Dean mentally thanked Chris for all that damn martial arts training. It had come in handy this time.

"I'd never seen him so angry before," one of them said.

"Well, Lee, he'd never been followed by the police before," the other retorted.

Lee and his brother smiled as he got in the car and drove it back to the property as night began to fall. Dean discreetly made his way up the tree line, until it cleared and he found himself looking at a horrifyingly rundown property. He sighed inwardly and shook his head. Kathleen was nowhere in sight.

There was a barn. Grumbling under his breath, he crept towards it absolutely silently. The sun had set, and the darkness gave him more than enough cover.

God bless being trained by a marine…

xxx

Kathleen's head felt like it was on fire when she came around. She noticed that she was in a metal cage in a barn. Her jacket and gun were gone as well and her hair wasn't in a bun like it was before. That made her skin crawl. What the hell had happened? She lifted a hand to her jaw, touching the sensitive area and wincing absently.

She felt someone watching her and turned to see a dark haired man watching her from the opposite cage, his dark eyes brooding with deadly ferocity and frustration.

"You all right?" he asked, his voice raspy.

She looked at him quietly for a long moment. There was something familiar about him. And then she noticed – it was the eyes. The same light burned in them as burned in Greg's… or whatever his name was. "Are you Sam Winchester?" she wondered.

"Yeah."

"You… You're cousin's looking for you," she rasped, trying to get a hold of her scrambled thoughts.

He closed his eyes, shoulders sagging with profound relief. He grinned. He knew Dean would find him. "Thank God," he muttered. He looked back at her. "Where is he?"

Her stomach sank when she realized the horrible fate she had resigned the man to. "I… I cuffed him to the car," she confessed, holding her face in her hands.

Sam shook his head slowly. He tensed and looked up when the barn door opened. Kathleen turned around and watched as the door closed silently. Both of them waited, holding their breaths as the shape of a man separated from the shadows. Relief surged through him – he'd recognize that form anywhere.

Dean held the side of the cage, relief making his knees weak. "Sam? You hurt?" he demanded.

Sam shook his head, leaning forward to touch his brother's fingers. "No," he said softly.

"Damn, it's good to see you," his brother said with a huge grin. "Ally's been worried sick; she hasn't stopped calling me since last night."

"Yeah, they took my phone."

Kathleen gave Dean a curious expression. "How'd you get out of the cuffs?" she wondered, baffled by his sudden appearance.

Dean turned to her and smiled mischievously. "I know a trick or two," he hedged, turning to examine the cage door. He took one look at the locking mechanism and whistled. "Damn. These locks look like they're gonna be a _bitch_."

"There's some kind of automatic control right there," Sam said, pointing behind Dean to the box on the support beam.

"Have you seen 'em?" he demanded as he inspected the box.

Sam nodded. "Yeah. Dude, they're just _people_."

"And they jumped you?" Dean gave him a crooked smile. "You're getting a little rusty there, kiddo." Dean opened the box to peer at the keys. He needed to get Sam back into some hand-to-hand combat training. "So what do they want?"

"I don't know. They let Jenkins go, but that was some sort of trap. It doesn't make any sense to me."

Dean pressed the button and when nothing happened, he slammed it shut and looked back at Sam. "Well, that's the point," he explained, glancing at Kathleen and omitting the usual words he'd use. "You see with our…uh, _usual_ playmates, there's these rules and patterns. But with people…" he trailed off, shaking his head. "They're just crazy." He walked to Kathleen's cage and looked over the lock. It was the same.

"See anything else out there?" Sam asked, leaning forward.

"Yeah. There's about a half dozen junked cars out back. Plates from all over, so I'm thinking that when they take somebody, they take their car too," Dean replied absently, biting his lip as he tried to figure out what to do.

"Did you see a black Mustang?" Kathleen asked suddenly. "About ten years old?"

Dean nodded once. "Yeah, actually, I did." He was quiet when he noticed her stricken expression. "Your brother's," he guessed. "I'm sorry." He looked back at the locks. "Let's get you guys out of here, and then we'll deal with those bastards." He turned to Sam. "These things take a key. Key?" He held up his hands hopefully.

Sam shrugged, having no clue where to even look. "I don't know, man," he admitted.

"All right, I better go find it." He turned on his heel, headed for the door, but Sam's voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Hey, be careful."

Dean smiled and mock-saluted him. "I will."

xxx

Dean made a mental note never to promise something so stupid, especially considering he'd just gotten his ass kicked. He came around slowly, to find his head aching like a mother and his hands tied behind his back. Lifting his head, he almost wished he could pass out again. He was sitting facing these… freako hillbilly people.

And they were staring at him. He could feel the sticky, warm flow of his own blood on his face, and realized absently that when – if – he ever got out of this, Paige was going to grill his ass like nobody's business. He shoulda remembered the damn grandpa in the kitchen. Oh, well, no need dwelling on his mistakes. Now he had to figure out how the hell he was supposed to get out of here.

The skinnier of the older men leaned down, his hands on the old guys' shoulders. "Let's hunt," he said in a gravely voice.

The bigger one – Lee, he'd been called earlier – looked excited at that comment. "Yeah," he agreed. "This one's a fighter. He sure would be fun to hunt."

Oh, yeah. Bring it, asshole. I'll kick your ass into next Friday, and this time, I won't get sidetracked by some stupid little girl, Dean thought viciously. He felt sick, literally sick, to his stomach as the old guy started to laugh. "Oh, you gotta be kidding me," he spat, disgusted and not believing his ears. "That's what this is about? You… you yahoos huntin' people?"

They all grinned. Personally, he thought they looked like feral animals.

"You eva killed befa?" the old man inquired, leaning forward, flashing Dean his disgusting yellow teeth.

He was shocked. He was just being sarcastic. These guys were actually _hunting people_. "Wha…what?" he managed to say, attempting to soothe his whirling thoughts. Killed before? More shit that you can imagine, you sick freak. He scoffed openly. "That… that depends on what you mean." He tugged his wrists, found them bound tight. No way he was getting free that way. Right about now, he was longing for a Wendigo, or hell, even a shapeshifter. Anything was better than this.

His ribs ached, his back ached, his thighs twitched painfully every time he moved. He could feel the pulse pounding in his head, over his swollen eye, and the trickle of blood that continued down his face. He was fairly certain he'd at least fractured two ribs, maybe more. And he was sick.

The more the man spoke about killing humans, the sicker Dean became. He took personal insult to these sick freaks hunting innocent people like they were meat. Hunting Kathleen's brother… hunting people like his wife, his sons. Hunting people's families, someone's child, someone's lover. It just wasn't _right_. It went so far out of right field he had no doubt that they were evil, and needed to die.

"You're one sick puppy," he growled, his stomach churning from the lovely mental image the sicko had just given him. He scowled as he listened to the guy ramble on and on. Weapons, fighting chance, one or two a year… as if that justified it.

"Never enough to bring the law down on us," the old man said, a sinister light in his eye. "We ain't neva been that sloppy."

"Oh, don't sell yourself short," he sniped, turning his face away from the abomination. "You're plenty sloppy." He wrinkled his nose in reaction to the smell wafting off the guy. It was like he hadn't showered in six years.

"You with that pretty cop?"

_Oh, great, he's in my face now_. Dean resisted the urge to puke all over the dude at the smell of his breath.

"You a cop?"

What was that motto of the Marine Corps? Never surrender? Right. Well, he was ripe to agree with that right about now. He glared defiantly up at the man, his mouth moving into his characteristic smirk. "I tell you," he sneered, "you promise not to turn me into an ashtray?"

The bigger one's fist slammed into his jaw, rocking his head back and sending pain shooting through his entire scull. He shook his head to clear it, willing the dizziness to fade. He shook his head, attempting to clear his vision, while the guy blabbed on about hunting him or something. He couldn't really tell. His ears were ringing.

"There's onla one thing I needta know," he was saying. There was a metallic clank that vibrated painfully through his sensitive senses.

"How about it's not nice to marry your sister," he quipped automatically. Sarcasm, after all, was his last line of defense.

"Any more'a dem cops gonna come lookin for ya, boy?"

Dean snorted and shook his head again to clear his hazy memory. "Oh, eat me," he snarled, stiffening as horror washed over him. "No, no, no, no, wait… you actually might." He glared up at the brothers, even as the bigger one roughly grabbed his head to hold him still, pressing against his aching jaw and harshly ripping at his hair.

A glow entered his line of sight. Oh, great. A pike taken out of the fire. Lovely.

"You think this is funny, boy? _You _brought this down on _my _family."

His heart was thundering in his ears. He was tied up, defenseless, and beaten to a bloody pulp. He could hardly see straight, he was so dizzy. Was this it? Was this where he would die? There was no way. This wasn't how a Winchester was supposed to go down. Paige… oh, God, Paige. The baby. His sons. He couldn't go down now. Not when a family was waiting for him back home. He kept his eyes glued to the glowing piece of metal while they announced a game, a hunt, that night. His heart sank. That meant either Kathleen or Sammy.

The boy or the cop. The boy or the cop. _The boy or the cop…_

"Okay, okay, wait, wait, wait," he stammered, blood trickling out of his nose, now. "Nobody's coming for me, alright? It's just us." He watched as the man sneered at him, announcing it was his choice, or else. The glowing rod bit into his shoulder, and he nearly fainted from the sharp pain as his skin burned, his jacket steaming. He made a sound of pain, trying to flinch away as the smell of his own burning flesh made his head swim.

"You son of a bitch!" he panted.

The glow neared his eye. "Alright, alright, alright, the guy, take the guy," he said hurriedly.

Horror washed over him. They were going to shoot Sam in the cage.

He'd just killed his baby brother. And Kathleen.

"You hurt my brother, I will kill you," he promised them, his heart racing, panic making his movements frantic. "I'll kill you all." He watched the old man stride off. "I'LL KILL YOU ALL!" he roared after him. A shot rang out, making his heart stop.

_Please don't let him be dead please don't let him be dead please…_

xxx

Sam panted, slamming the rifle butt into the guy's face a second time, feeling his body crumple into unconsciousness. His heart pounding, he tried the rifle, only to find it jammed. Naturally.

"Damn," he swore, throwing the useless thing in the cage and dragging the man's heavy body into it, locking it behind him. He used the key to set Kathleen free. "Hide," he ordered, quickly pulling the fuses to prevent any light from being turned on.

She nodded, darting off. He climbed into the rafters, staying low, just as the door to the barn flew open with cries of, "LEE!"

Good. Bastard was knocked out in the cage.

He watched them enter, hardly daring to breathe. Thoughts of Ally soothed his erratic breathing, kept him quiet, as the old bastard climbed the ladder towards him. He ducked behind the hay, and there was a creak before silence. He dared a peek, to find a rifle pointed at his head.

In a long-practiced, automatic movement, he ducked and rolled away from the shots. He dove across the space, rolling as he landed, ducking behind cover as he went. He jumped down and looped around the outside, aware of the old guy in hot pursuit. He charged through the doors to see the man about to shoot Kathleen.

"HEY!" he bellowed, pleased when the man spun towards him.

He ducked when he realized what was going to happen. A shot was fired, but it didn't hit him; it hit the old guy running in behind him. the man's hesitation gave Sam the time he needed to lunge across the space and grab the muzzle of his rifle before he could reload. He ripped it from him in one easy movement, slamming the butt into the man's chest, jabbing the guys' chin with the muzzle, before whipping it around for the three-step rule and creaming the butt across the man's jaw, knocking him out cold.

"Thank God Dean taught me that," he mumbled, breathing heavily. With new determination, he dragged the man into the cage with his brother, locking both of them in. He walked back to where Kathleen had a rifle trained on the father.

Sam knew what she was going to do; this guy had killed her brother. But he needed to check on Dean, he needed to know for sure if his own brother was okay.

"Go ahead," Kathleen said. "I've got this one. Go ahead."

He left her there, deciding the man deserved to die. The shot went off just as he was helping Dean shove the freaky little girl in the closet.

They exchanged glances and jogged down the steps, Sam taking note of how beat-up his brother was. He reserved his opinion, though, knowing Dean wouldn't appreciate it. Kathleen moved out to meet them, walking with new purpose.

"Where's the girl?" she asked.

"Locked in the closet," Dean replied, ignoring the way she was staring at his bloody face, as her face was just as bloody.

"Shot," she replied automatically. "Tried to escape."

"Good for you," Dean said quietly, reaching out to touch her shoulder.

She called in backup while they collected their stolen artifacts.

"So, the state police and the FBI are going to be here within the hour," she explained. "They're going to want to talk to you. I…suggest you be long gone by that time."

"Thanks," Dean said quietly.

"Better start walking. Duck if you see a squad car," Kathleen advised, smiling around the pain in her gaze.

Sam smiled. "Sounds great to me, thanks," he said, heading off down the road but pausing when he realized Dean wasn't behind him.

"Listen," Dean said softly, stepping closer to her. "I'm, uh, I'm sorry about your brother."

Kathleen was fighting to hold back tears. "Thank you," she said, choking on the words. "It was really hard not knowing what happened to him. I thought it would be… easier, if I knew the truth, but…"

"It's not," he supplied softly.

They shared a moment of understanding, both of them having lots a brother, her one of blood, he one of friendship.

"No, it's not. Not really," she agreed. "Anyway, you should go."

Dean hesitated, loathe to leave her there all by herself. He did what his heart told him to do and pulled her into a gentle hug, releasing her after a moment. She looked shocked. He pulled out a business card and a pen from his pocket.

"If you ever need anything, or if you hear of anything weird or strange that no one can explain," he said, scribbling down his address and phone number. "You just give drive here or give either of those numbers a call. There are people there who will be able to help." He held it out to her, and she took it.

"Thanks," she said quietly, smiling at him. "I'll be sure to remember that.

Dean smiled, and with a final wave, turned to follow his brother down the road.

Kathleen watched them until they disappeared before she glanced down at the business card in her hand. The front shocked her. She read:

**FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION**  
**Supervisory Special Agents** NOAH D. CLAYBORNE & MICHAEL J. BRENT

Office of the Behavioral Analysis Unit  
J. Edgar Hoover FBI Building, Denver, CO  
Office: 1-556-823-4566, ext 12  
Cells: 1-566-709-8334 BRENT  
1-566-208-7733 CLAYBORNE

And, scrawled on the back, was an address for some place in Wyoming, and a phone number. Scribbled along the bottom was a sentence that shocked her to the core.

_See you around, Kathleen  
- Dean Winchester_

She stared off to the place they'd just disappeared. She tucked the card into her pocket and wondered just who exactly these Winchester characters were… and if this Dean was the same Dean who was supposed to be dead. After what she'd seen tonight, she wouldn't put it past him.

xxx

"Don't you ever do that again," Dean warned as they neared the main road.

"Do what?"

"Go missing on me like that."

"You were worried about me," Sam realized, grinning at his brother and the infusion of warmth through his being.

"All I'm saying is, you vanish like that again, I'm not looking for ya," Dean muttered, heart thudding at the mere possibility. That, he didn't ever want to have to experience, ever again.

"Sure you won't," Sam scoffed, chuckling. "So, you got sidelined by a thirteen year old girl?"

"Shut up," Dean growled, shaking his head to clear his still-diziness.

"Getting rusty there, kiddo," he teased.

"Dude, shut up," he repeated.

Sam just laughed.

Things, it seemed, were almost back to normal. They got to go home to their families.

"Dude… that guy totally tried to _eat _us," he realized, shaking his head. "Man, Sammy… demons I get. People are crazy."

At that moment, Sam had never agreed with his brother more.

They made it to the Impala about an hour later. Dean was exhausted.

"Sammy, you mind driving?" he slurred, barely able to stand.

"Sure," Sam said, grabbing the keys and helping to lower his brother into the passenger seat. "Dean, you don't look so good."

"I don't feel so good," Dean admitted. His shoulder was a mass of white-hot pain and his ribs were aching. "Just get us home in one piece."

By the time Sam started the engine, Dean was passed out on the passenger side. He raced off towards home, hoping beyond hope that nothing was wrong with his over-protective big brother.

* * *

**Thunder Creek, Wyoming**  
May 16, 2006

Sam drove all night, and in that time, Dean didn't so much a twitch. That wasn't like Dean. That usually meant his brother was in a great deal of pain. There was faint surprise, however, to find it was snowing in Wyoming. There was a good three feet of it on the ground already. He drove slowly and carefully through town until he made it to the familiar ranch house.

He reached over to shake Dean. "Hey, we're home," he said, relieved when Dean slowly lifted his head and blinked like an owl.

The front door flew open, and down the steps raced Ally and Paige, hands over their mouths.

"Oh my God, Sam," Ally cried when she saw his face, impacting his chest and hugging him so tight he thought his ribs would crack. He didn't mind, and hugged her back with just as much fervor. "Where's Levi?"

"At Jared's. We asked them to babysit the kids last night. We weren't sure how long you guys would be gone, or what shape you'd be in judging by your call last night."

Sam bent and kissed her, letting out his pent-up emotions, relieved when Ally kissed him back. He was momentarily distracted from the horror of the last few days. "Let's get you into bed, Sam, you look exhausted," Ally said as she led him away.

Paige opened the passenger side of the Impala and knelt beside her husband, reaching out to gently touch his blood-caked face. "Dean?" she whispered.

His eyes fixed on hers, filled with pain. He winced when she helped him stand. He pulled her into his arms and held on for dear life, temporarily relieving the pain and terror he'd been through. He vaguely realized that his heart could only take so much of this…this…people disappearing on him. First Paige, then Sam. It was too much.

Paige clung to him, relieved to find him at least mostly whole. "Come on, Dean," she said quietly, pulling his arm over her shoulder. "Let's go get you cleaned up."

xxx

Dean slipped in and out of consciousness while his wife tended to him. His head felt better, and he could feel the pull of the needle in his skin and hear her voice telling him that it needed three stitches, but he didn't feel completely there.

He remembered the agonizing pain of her carving away his burnt flesh, slathering his skin with a numbing salve, and packaging a thick bandage over it, wrapping his shoulder with an ace to keep the huge bandage in place and prevent him from moving too much.

He vaguely remembered her pulling him into the shower and the hot water scalding his skin, her being careful to avoid the nasty burn on his shoulder. The caked blood being scrubbed from his hair, his face, his neck, his chest. Feeling clean again was nice. He suspected he'd need about a hundred showers until the feel of that place faded.

Relief was the feel of his usual pajamas and the soft bed at his back, her hands smoothing over his forehead. Usually, he would protest this treatment, but it felt good to be taken care of every once and a while. When she bent to kiss him, he kissed her back, the fingers of one hand gently locking on the back of her neck.

"Get some sleep, Dean," Paige whispered, going back to gently smoothing his hair. He slipped into sleep not long after that, soothed by the pain medication and his own pure exhaustion. He hadn't slept in three days, he'd been so desperate to find Sam. With as much care as she could, she lifted the comforter to his waist, not wanting to pull it any higher for fear of irritating his burn. She winced at the memory of his cries as she'd cut into him, but she'd had to. Otherwise, it would never heal and would get badly infected.

"You big stupid oaf," she whispered affectionately, tracing her free hand down his chest, examining the colorful pattern of already-black-and-purple bruises that dotted his chest, his jaw, his cheek, and she knew, his thighs, too. She'd even found a few on his back. It was no wonder he winced every time he moved. She'd wager that he'd fractured a few of his damn fool ribs.

She kissed his forehead. "When you wake up, I'm taking you to Pete," she promised. A glance out the window showed a blizzard forming. She sighed. "That is, if we don't get caught up in a damn blizzard."

With that, she sat back in her chair to read, watching over him while he slept.

* * *

Blackwood Creek, Wyoming  
Journal Entry #127  
Unknown Date  
_  
I lost track of time. I don't even know what day of the week it is anymore. Every day is the same, filled with the same horrors. I don't know where it came from or how it is doing this, but the darkness is our enemy. We cannot escape. Every night, we lose more of the pack. I fear that if we do not do something soon we will all perish. This thing is hunting us, and we cannot kill it. We are isolated here. We need help._

All I can do is pray that the hunters will realize our silence... before it's too late. Before this thing gets to the rest of us.

There is something out there. I can hear it. Feel it. Ever hair on the back of my neck stands up, and all I feel is the insane urge to change, to run for my life, to protect my pack. In case this is my final writing, I wish those of you reading to know that we fought it the best that we could. I have buried 18 of my brothers this week alone. Terror has become the main emotion among all of us. We are out of food. We are low on water. There are twenty of us crammed into this cabin, hoping to hold it off as long as possible. We have sent out three runners so far, and none have returned, leading me to fear they have perished. I have sent out distress signals, but not a soul has answered. Maybe it is blocking our transmissions. I just don't know anymore. This is my last journal page. In the event I do not survive, I hope that you hunters will be able to figure out what happened.

My name is Kyle Blackwood, and the sun is setting as I write these words. In a few moments, the world will be dark. I fear this time, the lights will not fend it off.

__

It's here.

* * *

E/N: Woo. Officially my longest EVER. By a LOT. Anyway… lots of stuff going down in the next one. :P

Hope you enjoyed. It's a whopper, that's for sure.

As always,  
**REVIEWS=LOVE**

On a side note, I seem to always forget to tag this on the end. If you like reading about stories where our boys are daddies, there's an awesome fic called "A Different Life" by samgirl19 where our very own Sammy is a daddy. Check it out, if you're interested. :)


	32. Chapter 32

**A/N**: Wells….. Ch. 32 is here. Not near as long as the THEORY OF EVOLUTION piece I posted earlier, haha. I'm winding down here. Got about 7 chapters left. This briefly touches base with Shadow and the Meg angle. Mostly filler.

To my loyal reviewers… I adore you all. samgirl19, nexus, Zampers, Bandit, FiveForFighting09, Angelscry2, and many others whom I cannot name at the moment because, you guessed it, my brain is fried. Blame it on Physio-Anatomy and Math Studies. At the moment, all I can really think about is the anatomical position to the buccal versus the clavicle, and the difference between pseudostratified columnar epithelial and stratified columnar ciliated tissue, and lots of other random stuff that makes sense to me but probably doesn't to you… :)

Hope you enjoy. I'm thinking, 7, maybe 8 chapters until I'm done. Jace will be arriving soon, as well. :D

**Disclaimer**: Same as the last umpteen gagillion chapters, folks… sick of repeating myself… x.x

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Two**  
Snowmen Armies and Mentions of Demons

**Thunder Creek, Wyoming**  
May 19, 2006

Dean stretched, wincing at the pain that shot through his ribs. He rubbed his face, fingers tracing over his stitches. He squinted at the light, dragging himself out of bed and pulling the curtains back.

Snow.

"Great," he mumbled. Seemed that damn blizzard had finally decided to pay them a visit. He dragged himself to the closet, studying his reflection in the mirror. Bruises dotted his flesh, his ribs aching with every movement. He carefully pulled on a T-shirt to cover them. No need to freak out his kids. A quick glance at the clock revealed it to be around breakfast time, so he trotted down the stairs, towards the noise in the family room.

He entered, stifling a yawn, and bent to scoop Sammy into his arms. The boy squealed with surprise, eyes wide with fright until he realized who held him. "Hey, you," Dean said affectionately, kissing his cheek and pulling him into a hug.

"Daddy!" Sammy cheered, throwing his arms around Dean's neck and holding on tight. He didn't lower his arms, simply rested there in his dad's arms, enjoying the contact.

Owen wasn't in the playroom, and neither was Levi. Brody was in the playpen, playing with blocks and totally oblivious to the world around him, Charlie snoozing in the corner. Dean shrugged, assuming that Owen was probably in the barn with Patch, and rubbed his son's back, soaking in the love from the contact. He kissed Sammy's honey-blonde hair, inhaling his son's sweet scent – he smelled like baby oil and soap.

"Where's mommy?" he whispered, rubbing noses with his boy.

"Kishn," Sammy whispered, smiling shyly. "I learb."

"You learned how to say kitchen?"

Sammy nodded, green eyes earnest. "Mommy cook," he explained, pointing over Dean's shoulder.

"Good job," Dean praised, holding up his hand. "High five."

The two-year-old enthusiastically slapped his hand, grinning.

"Let's go say hi to mommy, shall we?"

Sammy nodded, putting his arms around his neck again.

Dean strode into the kitchen, boy held securely in his arms, to find Paige sitting at the kitchen table, absently rubbing her stomach while she chatted with Ally. "Good morning," he said as he entered, smiling at the both of them. He pecked Ally on the cheek. "Good to see you all."

"And you," Ally replied, eyebrows rising. "This whole injury thing really freaks us out, you know."

"Sorry," he shrugged, reaching down a hand that Paige accepted, allowing him to pull her to her feet. "Good morning." He bent to kiss her tenderly, chuckling when Sammy's hands pushed their faces apart.

"Me too!" he protested, pouting.

"Oh, you, too, huh?" Paige said, making a playful growling noise and play biting his cheek.

Sammy screeched with laughter and tried to hide in Dean's shoulder, but Dean was having none of that. He, too, made a playful growling noise, making the boy giggle in delight as he was tickled by both his parents, squirming and writhing in Dean's arms, feet kicking out as his entire body was enveloped in giggle-spasms.

Ally grinned at the scene and rolled her eyes, a part of her silently wishing that Sam would be more like Dean. She sighed absently and put a hand on her swollen stomach, caressing her twins. She couldn't wait to meet them, to see their faces and watch them grow big and tall.

"Have you said good morning yet?" Dean asked after their tickle-fight was over and he was breathless with laughter.

"Who?" Sammy inquired, brow furrowing in confusion.

"Baby Jace."

He shook his head solemnly.

Dean put his hand on his wife's stomach, ignoring her grin. She always teased him when he did this, but by this point it was tradition. "Hey, baby boy," he said conversationally. "It's your daddy."

"Sammy!" Sammy cried happily, leaning down to put his hand on his mother's stomach as well.

"And your big brother, Sammy, too," Dean amended, grinning now. "We just wanted to tell you that you better be healthy when you finally get here. Right, Sammy?"

"Right!"

The pair nodded firmly. "Right," he echoed his son, bouncing the two-year-old slightly. "And we wanted to tell you that we love you very much and are very excited to meet you." He looked at Sammy. "Anything you'd like to add?"

Sammy leaned further, so that the only thing holding him was Dean's hands, and kissed the spot beside his tiny hand. "Lub you, Jace," he whispered before pulling himself upright again. He didn't seem to notice how Paige's eyes were misted with tears and how Dean's throat was tight with emotion. "Daddy, read?"

"Sure, bud, we can read." Dean set his son on his feet. "Go get a book."

Gleefully, Sammy raced off to do just that, practically skipping with excitement.

"God, I love him," Dean whispered, pulling his wife into a hug. He smiled down at her. "Thanks for patching me up."

Paige pointed at herself and smiled. "My job, remember?" she teased, kissing his cheek. "I'm just glad you're okay. How are your ribs?"

"I've had worse," he admitted to ease her worry. "Don't worry. I'll be fine. Just need a little Motrin and some R&R."

"If you say so, you stubborn mule-headed idiot," she teased, tweaking his nose.

"Hey. Who's a mule-headed idiot?" he pouted.

"That would be you, dear husband."

He chuckled and kissed the top of her head. "Where's Owen?" he wondered.

"Barn," she replied, rolling her eyes even though he couldn't see. "His current obsession is cleaning Patch's hooves. Ty is out there with him. He was up with the sun feeding the chickens, feeding the pigs, and milking the cows, knowing that after he was done helping he could spend all day out there."

Dean smiled at the bond between his son and the gentle gelding. "Why isn't Ty out in the fields?"

"Noah stopped by this morning. He offered to take Ty's place in the field until lunch. Ty hurt his arm yesterday and had to go see Pete this morning. He strained his wrist, has to wear a brace for a while, but he'll be fine."

"That was nice of him. Where's Michael?"

"Sleeping. They had a hard case, just wrapped it up. Series of murder-rapes in LA. Both were pretty beat up about it. I'd bet Noah hardly slept a wink." Paige sighed and rubbed her back. "I need to sit down." She flapped her hands away from her. "Go, read to him. Occupy him until we finish breakfast."

"Yes, ma'am," he teased, kissing the top of her head again before following his son to the living room.

Sammy had just found his favorite book, _Peter Pan_. He held it up hopefully, and Dean accepted it, sitting on the couch and patting the space beside him. His heart melted a little bit, as it did every time, when Sammy instead crawled into his lap and snuggled into his chest.

Clearing his throat, he cracked open the book and began to read. "All children, except one, grow up. They soon know that they will grow up, and the way Wendy knew was this…"

xxx

Paige called her boys to breakfast, just as Owen came in the door and kicked off his muddy boots, hanging his coat on the rack. Ty came in a moment later with Levi on his sholders. "Good morning," she greeted them, plucking the hat off Owen's head and setting it on the hat rack. "Off you go, wash your hands."

Owen grinned up at her, hugged her around the waist, and raced off, Levi right behind him. Ty sheepishly grinned before she pointed in the direction the boys had disappeared, and the hand lumbered off to wash his hands, as well.

"Dean, Sammy," she called again as she entered the living room. She froze in the doorway, smiling lovingly at the sight of her husband and son curled up together on the couch, a book in Dean's hands, his melodic voice spinning a tale of daring adventure. "Dean."

Dean looked up, green eyes startled, and Sammy looked up too, their expressions identical.

"Awready?" Sammy whined.

He snapped the book shut. "Don't worry, buddy," he soothed the toddler. "We can read more later, okay? Go wash up for breakfast."

Sammy reluctantly climbed down and went to wash up as he'd instructed. He shook his head and laughed, putting the book back on the shelf. "I don't know why he loves this book so much, Paige," he confessed, tucking it safely between _The Secret Garden _and _Black Beauty_.

"He likes the adventure," she guessed, shrugging. "What little boy, wouldn't?" She held out her hand and he grasped it.

"How did you sleep last night, love?"

"Fine, besides Jace doing somersaults all night and you snoring like a freight train."

"Sorry," he apologized, smiling. "I only snore…"

"When you're tired or hyped up on pain meds. I gave you a little morphine, Dean. It's okay."

"You're doing it again," he accused, pulling her into his side, savoring the contact between them. Even after three years of marriage, his feelings for her hadn't diminished – they'd grown. She could get his blood boiling with a single look.

"Doing what?"

"Reading my mind."

"I am good at that," she smirked, wrapping her arm around his waist and leaning into his side. "If there's one thing you are, Dean, its predictable."

"Predica….hey! I am not!" he protested, laughing, as she pulled away and veered right, towards the stove.

Predictable, huh?

Looked like he'd have to change his game plan.

xxx

_Later that night_

Paige grinned as she scrubbed Sammy's hair, watching her son push his toys around the tub through his hand-crafted maze of bubbles, making silly noises and mimicking the animals and boats, little face scrunched up in concentration.

It was moments like these where she saw Dean in him the most. She could only hope that her precious son would grow to be as amazing of a man as his father was.

She splashed water onto his toy boat to clear the suds, making the noises with him as she rinsed his hair.

"Time to get out, son," she said after his hair was thoroughly rinsed. Sammy obediently stood, most of the bubbles having dissolved, putting his toys back in the tub basket. Wrapping him in a light blue towel, she scooped him up and into her arms, rubbing noses with him as she did after every bath.

"Mama?" he whispered, expression curious as he placed his tiny hands on either side of her face.

"Yes, angel?" she whispered back, watching as he looked down, playing with the neckline of her shirt, awarding her with a view of the way his long, dark eyelashes swept onto his cheeks. The good eyelashes were wasted on boys, she thought wryly.

"Daddy leab?"

"Daddy's not leaving for a while, munchkin."

"Oh."

"It's snowing outside, remember?" Snowing. She almost laughed at herself. The wind whipped at the house, shuddering the entire structure as the swirling flakes made visibility impossible, propelled at such vicious speeds as they were by the furious wind. Sleep was not going to come easily tonight, that was for certain. And the boys would without a doubt be stuck shoveling their way out to the barn in the morning.

Sammy nodded, glancing back up at her, a smile tugging at his lips. "Snoben?"

"We can build snowmen. Tomorrow," she promised, kissing his cheek. "After _you _go to bed, mister."

He laid his head on her shoulder, and she walked him to his nursery, changing his diaper and dressing him in his footsie sailboat pajamas.

"Here's Frankie," she said, handing him his bear. She set him on the ground and kissed the top of his damp head. "Why don't we go see if daddy will read Peter Pan to you and your brother?" She held out her hand, and he grasped it. They walked down the stairs together, emerging into the living room just as the opening credits for _Jungle Book _started rolling.

Dean looked up at her as Sammy clambered up into his lap, snuggling against him immediately, thumb in his mouth. He had Owen curled into his side, between the end of the couch and him, snuggled comfortably with Coco and a blanket half-wrapped around him, no doubt chilled by his damp hair. Brody was sucking his pacifier, tucked against Dean's shoulder, more observing the world around him than the movie itself.

"Brody's turn?" he guessed.

Paige nodded. "Where's Ally?"

"Levi's bath time," he explained. "Sam is up there helping her. He's never done it before, so…" he trailed off, shrugging.

"Weird," she commented, baffled by the thought. "I never even considered that before."

"He did miss out on nearly two full years of his kid's life, you know."

"I know, Dean. Thanks," she replied sarcastically, rolling her eyes as she reached down for Brody, lifting him out of Dean's hands. "Hey, baby B!" she crooned, kissing his cheeks.

Brody grinned at her from around his pacifier.

"Let's go get your bath done, shall we?" she whispered as she left the room for the upstairs bathroom. She grabbed a clean towel, and got Brody's bath done in half the time it had taken for Owen and Sammy. Usually, she did one big bath in their Jacuzzi tub, but Owen had insisted on helping Dean check every window in the house, so she'd done them all separately.

Not something she was going to do again anytime soon, either. It was barely eight thirty and she was ready to crash. Usually, she had her boys in bed by now. After rubbing Brody dry, changing his diaper, changing him into his PJs, and making one more stop downstairs for his nightly sippy cup of milk, she paused in the doorway.

"Dean, I'm putting him down," she said softly, walking up behind him to touch the back of his head, running her fingers across his scalp.

He reached up silently with his good arm, craning his head back to look at her. She settled the one-year-old into the crook of his arm, and he planted a sweet kiss on Brody's cheek, nuzzling his warm neck and inhaling his clean scent. "Night, baby boy," he whispered, kissing him one last time before half-lifting him back to Paige.

Brody was already half-asleep and limp in her arms, sippy cup at his lips. It was about halfway empty, but he was obviously barely keeping himself awake. She settled him down in his crib and covered him with a warm blanket, bending to kiss the top of his head.

"Goodnight, baby B," she whispered. She paused there for a moment, watching as he crashed, his eyelids drooping shut and his breathing evening out. With a soft smile on her face, she closed the nursery door silently behind her and headed to take her shower, enjoying the feel of the hot water and her warm pajamas afterwards.

She wrapped herself in her favorite robe and headed back downstairs, discovering that _The Jungle Book_ was halfway done and only Dean and Sam were still awake. Sam sat – was more sprawled, really – on the opposite couch, Ally and Levi using his chest as a pillow. Unable to resist, she sneaked to the kitchen and snapped a picture, ignoring Sam's glare when he realized what she'd done.

Playfully sticking her tongue out at him, she put her camera back and stifled a laugh at his annoyed huff and retaliation of likewise sticking out of his tongue. He reminded her of an annoyed horse, and the way they puffed their nostrils. It was amusing, more so than usual because she was so damn tired.

The house shook from a particularly harsh blast of wind, and Dean glanced out the window.

"Nasty one," he commented as she sat beside him, lifting Sammy more onto his lap so that she could curl up against her husband's side.

"The last one always is," Paige replied, yawning and rubbing her eyes. "I've got a feeling a certain someone might get nightmares tonight." She whispered the second part so softly even Dean barely heard it.

"I'm thinking you're right," Dean said, tenderly kissing her forehead. "How are you feeling today?"

"Great. But my feet and back are killing me." She wiggled slightly to get more comfortable. "Other than that, though, its smooth sailing."

"How much has he been moving?" he wondered, honest curiosity tinting his tone. If there was one thing he loved, it was feeling the baby move inside of her. In a way it was sort of gross, but it was also amazing and breathtaking and made the whole experience seem a hell of a lot more real.

"Lots. He's an acrobat today." She closed her eyes and rested her head on his shoulder, not surprised at all when his free arm pulled her closer, hand settling on her lower back. His fingers started kneading circles, relaxing the tense and tired muscles.

She stifled a moan of relief against his shoulder. "You should quit demon hunting to become a masseuse," she announced softly.

"It's the magic in the magic fingers, baby," he teased, his laugh a rumble in his chest.

Neither noticed the way Sam was watching their interactions, puzzling over what Dean was doing and why exactly his wife was turning to putty in his hands. He glanced down at Ally, eyes resting on her swollen stomach, before resting on Levi, his innocent expression, and his ridiculously long eyelashes and mop of dark hair.

He'd have to ask Dean the method of massaging in the morning, because from what he could tell, Ally's back was killing her.

The adults only lasted through the next ten minutes before it was time for bed. Sam carried Ally and Levi up to bed, leaving his brother and sister-in-law to shut off the movie and all the lights and head off to bed, Dean with Sammy in one arm and Owen in the other, both of them passed out on his shoulders, arms swinging limply with his walk.

Paige went straight to bed, ignoring the way the winds shook the house, as Dean changed his mind halfway through putting them to bed in their own rooms and brought Owen and Sammy to their bed instead, being sure to click on a nightlight should they wake in the middle of the night and panic because they couldn't see where they were.

She smiled when she realized his loads and threw the covers back to make space. He settled the boys in the middle-ish part of the bed (it was a king, which meant plenty of space) and himself into his normal spot, wrapping himself around her, kissing a path up her neck to her jaw, and from her jaw to her temple, while she settled the covers over the four of them, being sure that Owen and Sammy were far enough from the edge of the bed to be out of danger of falling off of it.

"Sleeping tonight is going to be a bitch," he whispered. Times like these made his light-sleeper-ready-to-jump-up-and-fight-whenever mode really unbeneficial. He knew it was the same with Paige; that was an instinct drilled into him by his military father and into _her _by the actual military.

"That it is."

"Maybe I can help."

Paige glanced at him, frowning sleepily at his loving smile.

"Shall I sing you a song?"

She snorted but didn't object to this new form of spontaneity. So he started to hum, resisting the urge to sing. It was a soothing melody, one he couldn't place the name for but that he remembered perfectly. It was something classical that his mom had always played for him when he was small. And as predicted, both of them were dead to the world in less than two minutes, none the wiser to the blizzard assaulting their home.

* * *

**Thunder Creek, WY**  
May 20, 2006

Dean slipped out of bed early, careful not to wake his wife. He bent to kiss her stomach, and then to kiss her softly on the cheek, before tiptoeing downstairs to start breakfast. For the most part he knew what to do, he was just a little iffy on pancakes, he always let them cook too long on accident while he was trying to keep everything else from overcooking. Oh, well.

He clicked on the lights and started a cup of coffee, glancing at the clock to read five-o-one. Damn, it was early. He shrugged into a thick winter jacket and pulled on his heavy snow pants and boots, cincing everything up tight to keep him warm. The scarf he wrapped around his face and neck, the edge on the bridge of his nose and tucked behind his ears, the tails tucked into his shirt, successfully wrapping his head from neck to nose to keep his face from freezing off. Next went the thick, warm hat, tugged down over his ears to keep the scarf in place. Then, he zipped his jacket all the way up to his chin, pulled up his hood, and cinched it tight over his face, tying it into a bow so that only a little circle of his face could be seen, half of that circle protected by scarf. Lastly went the windbreaker, pulling that hood up over the next and zipping it, too, up to his throat. The mittens he did last, glancing at the thermometer as he did so. It read fifteen degrees.

Goddamn it, that was cold. And _he _had to go outside in it.

Taking a breath to steel himself, he pulled open the door and stepped outside, closing it behind him. the wind buffeted him, the cold slamming into him like a freight train. He jumped up and down to stay warm and peered out past the safety of his porch, to a swirling world of murky black, with no moon or stars to guide him. There was a rope tied to the porch that he reached up to grab, giving it an experimental tug.

It remained taut.

Good, it was still attached to the barn, then.

Gripping that rope like his lifeline, because that's what it was, he stepped off the last step and into the blizzard, bunching himself downward to fight the winds and whipping snow, squinting against the cold, face kept warm by his breath. He could almost feel his eyebrows freezing. He barreled forward, tripping and stumbling over the snow, slow going because of the wind.

He was so busy trying not to fall over that he forgot to stick his hand out and smacked the barn wall hard enough to jar his teeth. Feeling ridiculous and very glad that nobody could see him, he slid his hand along the wood, searching for the door. He found the handle, let go of the rope, and muscled the door open, sliding it shut behind him.

The barn was warm – heated (their damn horses were spoiled as hell) – and when he clicked on the light, fifteen-odd horses stuck their heads over their stall doors snorting in distaste and peering at him as if he was some kind of deformed hay.

"G'morning, you lot," he greeted them as he removed most of his outerwear, hanging them on the hook. He strolled down the hallway to the feed room, patting necks and scratching ears here and there, pausing the longest for Sergeant.

He clicked on the light to the tack room, rolling his shoulders and loading the hay onto the dolly, bale by bale. With a yawn, he muscled it out the door, starting at the end of the hallway's left side. Paige's stallion Colby watched him with his hears pricked forward, neck stretching his head around his door.

"Morning, Col," he greeted the horse, rubbing his forehead. He pulled on his work gloves and flicked open his Leatherman tool, using it to cut the ties on the hay bale. He pulled a flake of hay off and dropped it into the stall's hay rack. Colby immediately ignored him and instead attacked the food. He moved down the hall, doing the same for each horse, giving the larger horses (especially the stallions) a little bit more. When he was done with the left aisle, he turned the dolly around and went up the right side, back towards the feed room.

The last flake of hay stuffed into a feed rack, he pushed the now-empty dolly back into the feed room, storing it in its place in the corner. He tucked his gloves into his jeans and stuck his tool back in its case hanging off his belt.

Grabbing a bucket, he carried it over to the grain barrels. He whipped up some sweet feed for the yearling, yet unnamed, as he needed more nutrition in his diet while he was growing. To that, he added some soybean supplement, and carefully measured and mixed-in amounts of vitamin and mineral supplements. His hands were sticky and he smelled like horses, but he didn't care. He wiped his hands on a rag and carried the bucket to the yearling's stall halfway down the isle.

His handsome bay head arched around to look at him while he ate his hay, delicate ears pricking forward. He snorted softly, his dark eyes calm.

Dean smiled at the horse and reached up to stroke his neck. "Hello there, little one," he said quietly, rubbing his hand down the horse's neck to his shoulder, feeling the growing muscle mass. The yearling was growing like a weed, nearly sixteen and a half hands, and had strong, sturdy legs, a muscular chest, and powerful hindquarters. "You're going to make a good eventer, arentcha?"

The horse snorted and returned to his hay, ignoring the human in his stall. He dumped the bucket's contents into the bottom of the hay rack, dropping the bucket outside the door. While the horse was distracted grazing, he ran his hands expertly up and down the colts' legs, feeling for any unusual heat or swelling that would indicate injury. He also picked up each foot, bending the legs this way and that, searching for any resistance, tenseness of muscles, or signs of pain. There were none, which was good – that meant the current exercise plan he was on to develop strength was working well.

He patted the yearling's neck. His coat was long, but once it shed, he would be a rich brown. "You need a name, dontcha, boy?" he murmured, smoothing his forelock and mane. "I think your mommy's going to give you to Ally. Don't tell her I said this, but I think she should name you after something important. Like AC/DC. Something like… War Machine." He chuckled when the yearling looked at him, one ear pricked forward, the other half-around, listening. "Yeah, I know. That's an awesome show name, huh? That'd get people's attention. Like those famous eventers, Judgment and Authentic, or whatever their names are."

_**A/N: To those of you who aren't into horses, just to clarify here so you don't get confused, Judgment and Authentic are two famous Olympic horses owned by Olympic American equestrian Beezie Madden, who is one of the most famous and successful female equestrians in history. :)**_

With a sigh, he checked the automatic waterer for any blocks. The water was flowing properly and was clean as a whistle, so he exited the stall, carrying the bucket back to the feed room and dropping it in the pile.

He rolled his shoulders and yawned, scrubbing his hands clean in the sink, grabbing another, slightly smaller bucket and going to the chicken feed section of the giant feed room. He painstakingly measured out the proper amounts of shelled corn, roasted soybeans, oats, alfalfa meal, fish meal, aragonite (calcium), and Poultry Nutri-Balancer (mixes of vitamins and minerals). He them mixed it all together with his hands, brushing the dust off on his pants and carrying the bucket to the end of the barn. There was a door at the end, beside the main barn doors, that went directly to the chicken coop outside, for situations of weather much like this so he wouldn't have to come outside or blast their fragile internal systems with freezing air.

Clicking on the light, he pushed open the door and entered the chicken coop, closing the door behind him. They all jumped down and flapped their wings, clucking and calling in excitement for breakfast. He threw out handfuls of the food to different sections of the coop, keeping any one group of chickens from eating too much. While they were all distracted eating, he used the extra bucket hanging on the wall to collect the eggs, a total of fifteen. That should be enough to feed the entire family, the hands, and Noah and Michael.

Leaving them to their own devices, he left the coop, using the mat outside the door to wipe his boots before striding back to the end of the barn, setting the eggs against the wall. Then, he grabbed another pail, and through a door went to a different side-barn, where the two milk cows were housed.

"Good morning, Bessie, Wanda," he greeted them, patting their shoulders. Both regarded him calmly, lumbering over to nudge him looking for treats. He caved and gave them a half an apple each, scratching their heads, bigger than a horse's. He pulled over a milking stool and set to work while they cheerfully munched on their breakfast of alfalfa cubes and 12% horse feed (a mix of barley, molasses, oats, etc). It didn't take him long to have a full pail. Patting them in farewell, he covered the pail with a custom lid to keep it partially warm during the walk to the house, and grabbed an extra lid for the eggs, covering that as well as soon as he was back in the horse barn.

He pulled all of his clothing _back _on – this was by far the most time-consuming task, as everything had to be tied just so – and finally had everything ready. He paused with his hand on the door handle, turning to regard the peaceful barn and the soft munching of happy horse's eating their breakfasts.

"Wow," he realized out loud. "When did I become so domesticated?" He stood there for a long moment. Growing up, demon hunts and packing rock salt and refilling salt canisters and sharpening knives had been the norm. Nowadays he spent his mornings looking after their countless animals and entertaining his many children. In that moment, he felt amazingly blessed: he got to have both sides. The hunter, and the family-man. He was grinning like a fool, and as soon as he realized that, wiped it off his face and mentally kicked himself for being a fool.

Muscling the door open again, he set both pails outside while he closed the barn door. Reaching up, he found the rope, using the clip at the end of his jackets' long thick string to fasten around the rope itself. This left both hands free for carrying the pails and kept him from getting lost in the blizzard. Ignoring his stinging face, he hurried forward, the pull of the rope keeping him on the correct path. Without it, he would without a doubt become hopelessly lost. There was no sense of direction within a blizzard, as there were no reference points. Unfortunately, about two people a year died round these parts for that very reason.

And, as always, he was relieved to reach the porch safe and sound once again, wasting no time unclipping the line and hurrying to the warmth inside with the pails in hand.

Sam awoke early, carefully easing away from his wife and sprawled form of his young son, both sleeping so deeply he doubted they would wake for quite some time. He rolled his shoulders, stretched, and yawned, stifling the sound just in case.

He dressed hurriedly. He'd been awake most of the night, partly because of the blizzard and partly because he was attempting to get his priorities straight. With a sinking feeling, he realized that he'd been an ass over the past few weeks. Less than usual, but still – an ass. Too focused on the hunt. On revenge.

So, he was going to do something nice. He was going to get up and make breakfast so that Paige and Ally wouldn't have to. Besides, he was afraid that she would fall and hurt herself because she was so damn _tired _all the time.

He trotted down the stairs silently, realizing with a sinking feeling that the kitchen light was on. Okay, new plan: help Paige make breakfast so that Ally wouldn't have to.

"Morning, Paige," he sighed as he entered the kitchen.

Dean turned, eyebrows raised, black apron tied in place and spatula in hand, the stove warming up. "Good morning, dear," he said mockingly, laughter twinkling in his eyes.

Sam was shell-shocked. "Dean?" he exclaimed, glancing at the clock. "The hell are you doing up so early?"

"What does it look like, Sammy? I'm making breakfast." He rolled his eyes and grinned. "Good morning to you, too. There's coffee in the pot if you would like some."

He cheerfully poured himself a cup, dumping in lots of sugar and a little bit of cream. "What are we making?"

Dean studied him for a long moment before shrugging. "A bake-type dish that Paige's uncle LeRoy introduced to me," he said. "It's layered eggs, sausage, eggs, bacon, eggs." He motioned him over and showed him the pans lined with what Dean had just described. "You have to cook them all separately, first, otherwise it's just a big mush."

"And you've made this before?" Sam said hesitantly, peering down at the two big pans.

"Yep, quite a few times," his brother replied, handing him a spatula. "You can scramble those eggs, there, while I put the first bake in the oven and grade some cheese."

Sam did as he was ordered, the motion now easy and familiar. This was a far cry from their usual fatty burgers and huge cups of coffee on each case. After months of home-cooked food, he found himself missing it whenever they were on cases, and was sure that Dean felt the same way.

"How does it not burn?" he wondered, not used to cooking in general.

"Low heat on the oven," Dean replied as he covered the first pan with foil and set it in the oven. "You cook it slow, so that the food cooks all the way through, and then spread cheese on the top when it's done."

"It actually sounds kind of good." Sam scrambled before the eggs could burn. "Have you seen _Food, Inc._?"

"Once," he replied, shrugging. "Paige was pointing out the difference between the food that we eat and the food the majority of the country eats. I can't really eat food from the store anymore… it just tastes different, you know?"

Sam was puzzled. "How exactly do you guys eat?" he wondered.

"Well, to start, chickens raised on free-range lifestyle," Dean began as he started to grade cheese. "Same with our cattle. Grass-fed, not corn. Corn is actually more expensive for us to ship all the way out here, the grass is more convenient because it grows naturally in our fields. Our eggs come fresh from the chickens, and our milk fresh from the cows, who aren't given anything other than their food and occasional snacks. During summer we have a fruit and vegetable garden that does very well – for Paige's birthday this year I think I'm going to have a greenhouse built for her so she can grow fresh produce year-round. We grow our own wheat, barley, hay, alfalfa, and sweet hay, as well as some corn in Jared's pasture and some sugar beets as well.

"Our meat is prepared by a man outside of town, the local butcher. He and his workers, about five, do it all themselves by hand and without the aid of any chemicals. All-natural is the way to go, he always says. He does what he does to it, and then we get it back. He does it all for free, and in return, we give him half of our surplus for him to sell, in exchange for two barrels of his home-grown apples and three sacks of his potatoes. He will also do any meat that we hunt for us, though that we pay him for. If we need more of something, we either pay for it, which is rare, or trade someone our surplus of something for their surplus of what we need."

"Huh," Sam said, looking down at the food. "And your pork?"

"We got our pork from two pigs we raised last year, as an experiment, but because they smell so awful Paige decided she'd settle to trade Mitch Hendell, the pig man, as Sammy calls him, part of our beef surplus for part of his pork surplus," Dean explained. He closed the oven and wiped his hands on a towel. "We've kind of got our own little system going around here. All-natural, no preservatives, no nothing. When you weight the options, I wouldn't have my kids raised any other way. And, quite frankly, I'm more partial to our food than anywhere else's."

"I never realized how self-sustaining this little town is," Sam murmured as he turned the heat off of the now-finished eggs, watching Dean prepare the second pan.

"We do alright," Dean agreed, closing the oven as second time. "There are years that are harder. Droughts are especially crippling, and the occasional hail storm that wipes out all the crops. We had a pretty bad rainy season about two years ago that crippled out hay crops, we had to import from Montana, and that was expensive as hell. That balanced out this year, though, because hail storms slaughtered all of their barley crops, which happened to be last year's surplus. It usually balances out in the end."

"What happens if a farm starts to go under?"

"We all help each other out around these parts. Besides, the land is own collectively by three families. All of it. They've sold parts of it, but mostly, all the land was at one point owned by either the Knox, Newbern, or Baraldi families, and some Brent, all of them rich enough to simply buy the land back if the farm starts to go under."

"So, what… those four families collectively support everyone else?"

Dean shrugged. "Pretty much, yeah. We're hunters, Sam. Remember? We take care of each other."

"But won't they be in debt?"

"They pay enough with their lives and livelihood, fighting the things that go bump in the night, Sam. Since I've been here, there have been at least two deaths a year," he sighed, leaning against the stove. "Do you realize how many times we came to this town when we were younger, so that dad could talk to Brad?"

"Vaguely," Sam replied, his turn to shrug. He leaned against the island, facing his brother. "I remember this house, some far away memory. But it looked different. And I remember part of the town, though always at night, never during the day. And we went to school once here, for like, a week."

"I wish dad had let us stay," Dean murmured. "Just for a while. I never knew that this was a hunting community until I met Paige, and really started to get to know people. Here, Sam… here I feel, I don't know… normal? Like I belong, sort of, surrounded by hundreds of people just like me. Though, in dad's defense, I don't think he ever realized what this town was, or that he ever discovered it was filled with hunters and their families. If he'd have known, I think he would have left us here."

"Probably not," Sam argued, crossing his arms. "You know how he was, never letting us out of his sight when he was around."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Dean sighed, rubbing his face. He smiled slightly. "At least my boys will grow up here. I'll keep hunting from them as long as possible, but the cold hard reality is, Sam, that our family is cursed. After we die, the bastards will go after our sons for the things that _we _did. That _dad _did. It will never end."

On that bleak thought, the brothers stared gloomily down at the floor.

"I need to feed the dogs," Dean sighed, heading into the garage and collecting their bowls. They followed him inside, tails wagging and tongues lolling as they watched him prepare their bowls. Charlie and Percy leaned against Sam's legs, and he obliged them by scratching their ears. Klaus stood faithfully right beside Dean, tail thumping the ground, eyes keenly watching his every move.

The three of them engulfed their food in a minute, flat. I was impressive.

"They're pigs," Dean grinned, wiping his forehead and scratching Percy's ears. "Come on, we should start setting the table. I'll cut up some fruit if you put out condiments and stuff."

"Okay," Sam agreed.

By six-fifteen, there were sounds of movement upstairs. Dean and Sam had set the table, glasses filled with milk, Brody's high-chair in its proper place, each boy with his favorite plate and cup, booster seats buckled firmly to chairs.

"Daddy," Owen said groggily, and Dean picked him up to hug him. he yawned hugely and rubbed his eyes, sitting in his chair as was the normal routine as soon as Dean set him down.

"Hungry, buddy?" he asked, ruffling his blonde hair.

"Famished," Owen mumbled.

Holy crap, that was a big word. The kid was _five_! Sam beamed in pride, and Dean groaned inwardly – great, another geek in the family. Just wonderful. They high-fived each other over the table, and he rolled his eyes, picking up Sammy as soon as he appeared, bright and cheerful despite the early hour.

Then came the crowd – Noah and Michael, looking cross and exhausted, dark circles under their eyes as aftermath of their nightmarish case; Ally, fully rested and perkier than usual with the beaming and cheerful Levi on her hip, and Paige looking surprised at the kitchen's current setup with little Brody awake and alert on her hip.

"You let us sleep in," Paige announced as they filed into their chairs, pausing to kiss his cheek. She settled Brody in his high chair and rubbed her eyes, yawning.

"Least I could do," Dean replied as he buckled Sammy into his booster seat. Ally did the same with Levi, and Sam and Dean put the bakes on the table, one on each side, right as a knock came from the door. Dean opened it and ushered the people inside – Jared and Rachel, Elliot and Lisa with baby Abby, Ty and Chuck, and newly arrived hand Hank; and lastly Amy with the four kids. They'd all rushed over here during a lull in the storm, the hands and Jared looking positively frozen from their morning with the cattle.

"Thank you, Sam," Ally whispered as soon as they'd said grace and were dishing out the food.

"You're welcome," he replied, smiling as he bent down to kiss her tenderly.

Ally lifted her eyes to Noah, who had the strangest expression on his face, eyes locked on Sam, before his beautiful blue eyes shifted to hers and his expression softened into a grin so quickly she was sure she'd imagined his expression earlier. He winked at her, and she grinned in response. Breakfast flew by, and before she knew it, it was the rush of getting dressed and getting kids dressed and playing with dogs, and Paige arguing with Owen over going to the barn. She just went along with it, doing her best to ignore Dean and Noah chasing the kids around with underwear for hats, growling like monsters and getting the youngsters so excited that they were nearly impossible to dress, while Paige and Rachel leaned against the wall laughing their heads off and Jared and Sam joined in the madness, yelling like Indians and having a mock-battle with wooden swords in the middle of the hallway, wearing ridiculous headdresses and basically acting like a bunch of nerds.

Rachel nudged Paige on the shoulder.

Paige's eyes were filled with laughter as she watched Lisa wrestling Elliot over a wooden sword, baby Abby toddling around on unsteady legs, her hair in adorable little pigtails, one hand closed around Percy's long tail, the Great Dane not quite knowing what to do about it, so he just paraded her around everywhere.

"I've decided that I love our family," she announced, hand on her swollen stomach.

"Agreed," Paige said with a firm nod. The men raced around the corner, familiar silver tubes held in their hands and evil grins on their faces as the boys sprinted with them, also holding cans. She immediately recognized two teams–skins and shirts–and she and her friend were directly in the middle. She grabbed Rachel and yelled, "Duck!"

Too late.

The silly string got them both in the face.

xxx

Ally was exhausted by noon. They'd been chasing the kids around, playing inside games like hide-and-seek and silly string wars, had re-enacted Cowboys and Indians, had build giant towers and then knocked them down, and even done some finger-paining in the state of the art room specifically designed for painting and sculpting.

So, naturally, Noah's suggestion made her head spin.

"Hey, guys, want to do something fun?" he called, the kids racing over to stand around him, eyes excited, crowding around him in anticipation. "Let's go build snowmen!"

The kids were ecstatically pulled on all of the necessary clothing and headed outside to do just that.

"No girls allowed except for Ally," Dean said firmly, dragging her along. "I'll come get you."

The women stared at each other, eyebrows raised.

"Did your husband really just say that?"Amy wondered.

"I'm sensing a plot here," Lisa said, hands on her hips.

"This was Ally's idea," Paige guessed as the crowded around the window. "Let's just sit back and wait."

So they did – they sat at the table and drank hot chocolate, chatting about babies and nurseries and due dates, and also weddings, as there were currently two pending. It was an hour before Dean returned to fetch them.

xxx

(during that hour)

Ally followed Dean outside, cheeks already pink from the cold. They had kept the same teams as earlier, with her on Sam, Dean and Michael's, Noah and Jared and Elliot being the other team. The kids were split evenly between, them with Owen, Levi, and Sydney, and the other team with John, Katie, and Levi.

They immediately got to work, digging trenches that the formed into bunkers, walls in the front tall, with specific holes big enough to study the enemy territory. The kids worked digging, while Dean and Mike started to form snowballs, arranging them into giant piles much like they used to stack cannonballs.

It took forever, with her and Dean playfully shoving each other, until the trench was wide enough and the fortifications wide enough as well, the snow hard packed beneath their feet and approximately six feet deep. Their trench was about three feet, the wall four, making it easy to duck behind, and hard packed.

Dean looked at her, eyes dancing with amusement. "Snowmen army?" he suggested.

Ally grinned and followed him, the two of them starting to build snowmen. Noah trotted over to join in, and so did the kids. In the end there were thirty snowmen set up, different expressions and arms on each, some with faces and others with none.

"War starts in two minutes!" Michael announced, the two teams going back behind their bunker. that's when Dean went to fetch the women and warn them to bring cameras, grinning like a two year-old on Christmas morning.

The women stood on the porch, peering at the snowmen army. And then, with a battle cry similar to those in _Lord of the Rings_, they charged forward from two sides, snowballs flying, using the snowmen, bunkers, and each other as shields from the onslaught.

The laughter was loud enough to be heard for miles, and the women laughed with them, cameras clicking away.

It was one of the most ridiculous things they had ever seen.

And when it was over, Noah cheerfully faced Ally with a snowball, grinning cheekily as Dean chased him around, crying at the top of his lungs, "We win, we win, nah na nah na nah naaaaaaa!", until the kids were running with them, skipping and cheering Dean on, until Michael joined him and the rest of the men bore down on the tall FBI agent.

"Come on, girls, get me already!" Noah chuckled as he evaded them, smirking.

To which Dean and Michael tackled him into a snowdrift, successfully wiping the snow right off his face. "Gotcha," Michael announced, yelping as a mass of bodies landed atop them, until the group was just a mix of limbs and snow and laughter.

Quite a fun way to spend a snowy day, albeit a cold one.

* * *

**May 21, 2006**  
Thunder Creek, WY

Dean pushed Sergeant to a canter, holding himself firmly in the saddle with his knees. The wind flapped at his jacket, frigidly cold, even as he expertly swung the rope above his head, the lasso flying loose to hook the cow's head. He secured the rope to his pommel as Sergeant slowed, effectively slowing the beast while Jared jumped off his horse to hobble the disoriented steer.

"Got him?" he called, keeping the line taught and stilling Sergeant's frantic prancing.

"Got 'im," Jared called back, cursing and removing his hat to wipe his brow. "Damn steer. Thought he was going to run headlong into the fence." He looped a rope around his neck as well, being sure to unhobble him carefully, jumping on his horse in exactly the same moment.

Together, Sarge and Jared's steed managed to drag him back into the arena he'd escaped from.

"Nice work," Jared commented as he dismounted and loosed the steer back to his group. "Thought he was a gonner."

"Nah," Dean said, slapping Sergeant's neck. "This fella here is fast." Sergeant snorted and threw up his head as if in agreement. He chuckled at the stallion's attitude and leaned forward to rub his horse's ears. "He's a good cow horse. Got excellent cow sense."

"That he does," Jared said as he remounted, his leather saddle creaking. "Shall we return to the herd, then?"

"After you," Dean said, lifting his hat and gesturing forward. Jared kicked his horse to a canter, and he followed close behind, the movement of his stallion beneath him comforting and familiar as he stuck his hat back on his head.

The gate was held open for them by Cody, who closed it behind them and waved before he returned to plowing the fields.

"How many hands you hiring this year?" Jared wondered as they slowed to a walk at the herd's left flank.

"Three. Hank, as usual, and Cody Jackson again. We also employed Derek Stryder, a senior looking to make a little money before college. He's a good kid."

"Hunter?"

Dean sighed and pushed his hat up to scratch his forehead. "Maybe. I don't know, man. Haven't talked to him."

"If he's Gary's kid, he's bound to be a hunter," Jared said quietly, rubbing his chin. "Only know one person more hardcore than Gary, and that's your daddy."

"Tell me about it," he sighed.

"Heard you boys ran into him again."

"Yeah, we did," Dean said, Sergeant moving forward to block a cow's escape route towards the barbed wire fence. "Sammy and I were on a hunt in Chicago. Daeva, nasty pieces of works. Shadow demons."

Jared nodded. "Encountered one, once. Years ago. Nasty sons of bitches."

"They are indeed," he agreed. "Found that the victims were all from Lawrence, Kansas. That got us thinking that maybe all of this had something to do with a demon, specifically, Yellow Eyes. Turns out it was just some chick named Meg, who Sammy met months ago. You remember the Scarecrow incident?"

"You told me, yeah."

"Right. Well, he met 'Meg' when I left him on that road. She was a demon, tried to use us as bait to lure in our dad. Trouble was, it worked. She fell out of an eight story window to the pavement below. Dad was waiting for us back in the motel room, we got blitzed. We didn't know she was a demon until then. We fought 'em off just long enough to get away. We split up." Dean sighed and made a sour face. "Guess dad figured he's better off on his own. He's right, though. We're his weaknesses, and he's ours."

"Sorry, man."

"Not your fault, Jare."

Comfortable silence fell between them, as they whistled and pushed the herd onward, towards the south pasture. It was freezing out, the snow having melted over the night, but it was only six in the morning. Chances were it'd be hot by noon, as they were nearing summer. Cold mornings, hot afternoons, cool evenings. Until summer, when it would be warm everything. Dean could hardly wait.

"So, you and Sam leaving on another hunt?"

Dean nodded. "East Texas. Kids getting murdered mysteriously. Ally has a doctor's appointment and Levi has a checkup, so Sam wanted to leave this afternoon."

"What about Paige. How's she doing?"

"Great. She's exhausted more than usual. Her feet are killing her all the time, and when I was massaging her back last night she called me 'God' several times." He chuckled at the joke, then sobered. "I'm worried, El. She's got those three boys to chase around all day. It's a blessing that Ally is always there to help, but hell, she's getting on in months, too. Good thing Rachel is hanging around a lot more lately."

"Any word on Jace's heart?"

"Stronger every day, Amy reports," he beamed happily. "Hopefully, it will be completely outgrown by July. We're hoping he will be perfectly healthy."

"I hope so, too, Dean."

"Hope your baby's healthy, too."

"He will be," Jared said with confidence.

Another cow broke from the herd.

"Race you," Jared challenged, grin on his face.

Dean leaned forward and urged Sergeant to a gallop, enjoying the thrill of the chase.

* * *

**E/N**: Toyed with this FOREVER. It's a filler that introduces the beginnings of future problems. Didja catch it? Let me know if you did, I'm interested to hear your guesses/idea/thoughts/predictions. Also gave you guys a little glimpse into farm life - not as easy as it looks! Don't worry, Jace will be here soon.

That snowmen army was for you, Zampers. Luff ya, and thanks again for the inspiration!

**As always,  
REVIEWS = LOVE**

:D


	33. Chapter 33

**A/N**: Oh, boy. Dying on me again. But then, I died on you, too, so I'm not TOO mad. :D Hang in there, guys! Almost to the end! We're SO CLOSE! If you've stuck with me this long, I ADORE you all, and couldn't have done any of this without you!

**Disclaimer**: If I owned Supernatural, I wouldn't be writing this… I'd be making it into my own TV series. Bwahahaha. *cough* Yeah… don't own it. In case anyone still has questions about that… THIRTY-THREE CHAPTERS LATER… Yeah…

Also, I know NO Spanish. I rely on a translator from Google. So, to those of you who can read/speak it, I apologize for grammatical errors. Feel free to correct me, I would appreciate it. :)

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Three  
**Crazy Babysitters, Voodoo Dolls, and Lone Star Losers

**Thunder Creek,WY  
**June 3, 2010

Paige hummed under her breath while she swung on the porch swing beside her best friend, watching their sons frolicking in the warm sunshine. The snow had melted, all traces of the blizzard gone, and the sun was glowing bright above them in the cloudless stretch of baby blue, bathing them with warmth.

"It's a beautiful day," she murmured, resting her hands on her belly and smiling as Owen bent to help lift Sammy to his feet, kissing his booboo for him.

"It is," Ally agreed just as softly, hands also resting on her swollen belly, nearing the size of Paige's even considering she was barely seven months along. "Too bad Sam and Dean can't be here."

"They're in Texas," Paige reminded her. "They're getting plenty of sunshine. Much worse than here, that's for sure."

"True."

Dean and Sam had left for Texas on the twenty-third, a day later than planned, and had executed their hunt in three days. They'd come home for four days, played with the kids, gone to doctor's appointments, given foot rubs, the whole shebang. Then, another hunt had cropped up day before yesterday – based on a legend in East Texas of some guy named Mortekai and his murdered daughters. That had them busy as heck, though she was looking forward to stories of the "paranormal investigators" the brothers had met.

"How'd your appointment go?"

"Good. The twins are healthy." Ally smiled and rubbed her stomach, sighing in relief. "How about yours?"

"Good. Jace's heart is looking strong. I wish Dean could have been there with me, but…"

"But they're hunters," she finished for her best friend, smiling. "That's okay. Noah went with me. And Jare went with you. So, they're replacement enough."

"Speaking of replacements, are you and Sam ever going to pick a house?"

Ally frowned. She and Sam had been house-hunting for two months now. "I think we're going to go for the one just off Main Street. The three-bedroom, two-bath, with a big backyard. Oh, and before I forget, how is all of the wedding planning going?"

"Fine," Paige replied with a smirk. "It's going to be small, just immediate family and a few friends from town. We'll have it on Elliot's property, since he's got the lake and the most trees. They'll make pretty pictures. We've gotten RSVPs for everyone, so… on the fourteenth of July, you guys are getting married." As if Ally didn't already know, she'd picked the date herself. She just wasn't into the whole… planning thing.

"Rachel and Jared have had everything planned out for months," Ally sighed. "Wish I'd have thought of that. When's their date again?"

"June ninth. The whole family is flying in. It'll be crazy, but fun. I'm going to be as big as a balloon, so I I'm not going to have much fun as a bridesmaid, but oh well." She snapped her fingers, suddenly excited. "Oh, and before I forget, we're going to have little Chris and miss Abby as the ring bearer and flower girl. Who do you want to have?"

"Levi as the ring bearer, of course," Ally said with a teasing smile. "And… hmm…" she trailed off, thinking. "My niece Cassie as the flower girl, I think."

"How old is she now?" Paige wondered at the thought of the pretty little red-headed, brown-eyed baby she'd met only once; Cassidy Nicole was the daughter of Ally's brother, Jeremy. "Oh, wait. Too young. We could just have Sydney or Kate be flower girls. Or Abby, too."

"I suppose. Or my cousins."

"Who?"

"Jon's little girl…she's four. That would work, right?"

Paige shrugged. "Your wedding, Ally," she teased.

"Who were your flower boy and girl?"

"Sydney and Kate were our joint flower girls – they were both two – and John Bradley was our ringbearer." She smiled at the memory. "You've seen the pictures. They're all so _tiny_. It's adorable."

"You are such a geek," Ally teased, shoving her shoulder.

"So are you, Mophead. So are you."

…

Paige rubbed her eyes, fighting the wave of exhaustion crashing over her. Her back was killing her, and she was _really _longing for Dean's massages at the moment. To relieve the pressure on her back, she put her feet up on a stool, which only partially relieved the pressure on her back.

Sighing and swiping her hair up into a ponytail, she pulled all the ingredients out of the fridge that she needed. Every once and a while she'd glance out the window to make sure the kids were still in the yard. The windows were all open, allowing the warm air to blow inside.

Eventually, she finally finished making up all the sandwiches. "Boys, lunch," she called, putting the plates on the table. "Hats off," she reminded them as they came inside. "Owen, can you put Brody into his high chair, please."

Owen nodded and lifted Brody, causing the one-year-old to protest by crying. He set his brother on the chair and climbed up, pulling Brody into his arms again. From there, Paige lifted Brody and put him into his high chair, buckling him in place.

"Thank you, honey. Eat your sandwich, please, Brody," she ordered, sliding the cubes off of the plate to his high chair tray.

"Leche, tía!" Levi said loudly, holding up his cup.

"Eat your sandwich," she reminded him.

Levi made a face at her and pushed his chair back, unbuckling himself from his booster seat and scooting to the edge to slide off.

Ally swooped out of nowhere down behind him, grabbing him by the arms. "¡eso sí que no!" she scolded, placing him firmly back in his chair and buckling him in. "You do not get up until me or auntie Paige say you can, you got that?" She pushed his chair forward and pulled his plate closer. "Eat. You cannot get up until every bite is gone."

The rest of the children watched this exchange with wide eyes, and Levi pouted and crossed his arms, glaring down at the table.

"That means you, too," Paige reminded her boys. Brody giggled and smacked his hands on the table, a piece of sandwich in both hands, causing her to smile and laugh softly. She looked to her best friend, noting how Ally's expression was irritated and her hand on her lower back. "Help me get the milk?"

She puffed out a breath and nodded. "Only a quarter of a cup for Levi. He doesn't eat if he drinks a lot. He can have some more after he finishes his sandwich."

"What did you say to him?"

"I said 'Oh no, you don't!'," Ally explained as she helped to pour the milk and distribute the glasses.

"How does he keep all three languages straight?"

"It's hard," she confessed. "Especially with Sam. He doesn't understand Spanish or Italian, so Levi has some difficulty communicating. He understands all three languages on the same level, but… its mostly simple things. And I make a point to repeat the same request in all three."

"Sounds hard."

"It is." Ally smiled softly. "Sam is picking them up about as fast as Levi does." Her smile widened. "Levi loves being around Noah and Michael, though. They both speak Spanish."

"And Michael speaks Italian," Paige reminded her. "He actually lived in Italy as an exchange student for a year during college. He's still friends with Leo, the boy he switched with."

"Full name Leonard?"

"Leonardo," she corrected with a wide grin. "After the famous Leonardo da Vinci himself."

"My favorite historical figure of all time…" Ally trailed off, voice slightly dreamy. "Oh, I never knew that. I am definitely grilling Michael's butt the next time I see him. I've _always _wanted to visit Italy."

Paige raised an eyebrow. "Uh, Allyson?" she said, forcing back a laugh. "So go and _plan _a trip to Italy. All that money has to be good for something, right?"

"Oh, right," Ally realized, feeling stupid. "Maybe that's where I'll go for a honeymoon…"

She smiled and shook her head, bringing the cups to the table. She sat beside Owen, taking a bite of her own sandwich.

"Mommy, can I ride Patch today?" Owen said as soon as she was done chewing. His eyes were bright with excitement.

Paige thought for a long moment. She already knew she was a gonner – how could she resist that sweet little face? "As long as one of the hands are watching you," she decided. "I believe Hank is working the horses right now. He'll probably let you ride in a roundpin while he exercises the horses. Go ask him." When he moved to stand, she held up a finger. "Whoa, whoa. Lunch first, mister."

Owen gobbled down the rest of his sandwich and fruit, and then sipped his milk until it was gone.

"Can I go now?" he asked excitedly.

"Plate and cup in the sink," she allowed, taking a sip of her own glass of milk. "And _walk _please, you don't want to make yourself sick."

The five-year-old raced over to hug her and kiss her cheek before skipping out the door. She smiled at his antics and raised an eyebrow at Sammy. "Sammy, lunch."

"Buh mommy," he whined.

"You've only got four bites left," she said, pointing. "You don't get up until you finish. Look at your cousin. See how good he's eating?"

Levi beamed at her, little chest puffing out in pride. He took another huge bite of his sandwich.

"He's almost done. Finish, little guy, or you can't get up from the table."

"It's nonstop with them," Ally said with a wry smile, shaking her head. "I'm going to go have a final look at the house. Care to join us?"

"Sure," Paige replied, finishing up the last bite. "Sammy, last bite. You can do it, come on."

Sammy took the last bite, chewing slowly but smiling slightly. She took his plate and cup, putting them in the sink. Ally handed her Levi's, and the kids hopped down, skipping off to go play outside again.

"I got the dishes," Ally said, waving her off.

"Come on, baby B, let's go get you changed," Paige cooed, lifting him out of his high chair and nuzzling his cheek.

"Mama," he giggled, offering her a toothy grin.

She kissed the end of his nose and took him upstairs. She changed him into short overalls with a puppy stitched on the front and a white short-sleeved shirt. He was squirming by this point.

"Almost done, Brody," she promised, slipping socks onto his feet, followed by his light blue Vans. "Okay, come on. We're going into town for a little adventure."

"Do you want to bring anything?" Ally asked when she re-entered the kitchen.

"While we're in town we might as well have dinner. Let's bring the wagon, too, to pull the kids around," Paige said thoughtfully. "Are you buying this house for sure?"

"Yep," Ally said, wiping her hands on a towel. "I just need to sign the papers. Sam's letting me pick."

"What about Stanford?"

"I'm taking the rest of the year off. Besides, I'm not sure if I really want to be a lawyer anymore, anyway." She was distant for a moment before snapping back. "I guess that changed after Lee was born. Anyway, I need to have all my stuff shipped over from California, and will probably be spending some time in Denver buying furniture."

"And that's that, huh?"

"Leeched off you and Dean enough," Ally admitted. "It's time for me and Sam to start the next chapter of our lives, and preferably before these babies are born and we're married."

"Okay then, let's load up the wagon. Come on."

"I wonder what Sam and Dean are doing right now?" Ally asked.

"Probably chasing someone or in a bar somewhere."

* * *

Dean scratched his head, frowning down at the journal as he flipped through the pages and pages of various monsters and creatures, most of which he'd fought and some of which he'd only ever heard about.

So far, he had nothing on this… thing. Whatever it is this thing was. First, they thought it was just a bunch of teenagers being stupid. Apparently not… a teenager was dead, and he felt like an incompetent asshole for brushing it off so quickly.

Which was why, damn it to hell, he was going to figure out what the hell this thing was. He'd been pouring over research for hours. The books and records, of course. And trying to figure out what this damn symbol was, because he knew he'd seen it somewhere, he just wasn't sure where, and it was bugging the hell out of him. Sammy tended to handle the computer stuff… he wasn't so good at that. Sure, he got by, but still. Not exactly his forte. He preferred riding horses, roping cattle, and of course, hunting monsters. All in a day's work for the eldest Winchester son, thanks very much.

"Anything?"

Dean glanced up from attempting to chew off the end of his pen. Frustration annoyed the hell out of him. Paige called it the "vicious cycle".

"Nah. I've got squat. How about you?" he said.

Sam shook his head, scratching the end of his nose and crinkling his forehead as he glared at his screen.

"Careful Sammy," he warned, throwing his pen down. "One of these days, that thing's going to spontaneously burst into flames."

"I don't know what's more shocking," Sam volleyed back. "The fact that you just used _spontaneously _in a sentence, or the fact that you're threatening my computer." He gave him the best Sam Winchester bitchface.

Dean smirked and pointed to himself. "Immune," he quipped.

Sam muttered something colorful under his breath and went back to stabbing the keys on his keyboard. "This is so friggin _frustrating_," he bit out.

He shrugged. "Be patient, Sam. Sometimes, you have to stop looking for a while, and then something will pop out at you." He absently scratched his chin, glancing up at his little brother. "Chris taught me that."

"Great advice," Sam mumbled sarcastically. As soon as Dean's eyes returned to the book he was holding, he inhaled deeply and released it silently, mentally forcing himself to relax. He decided, for once, to take Dean's advice and do something else for a while, letting his mind relax. So, he turned on his e-mail, smiling as he read through Ally's e-mails. She'd sent him three today alone.

"Email?" Dean guessed as soon as he saw Sam's expression.

"Yeah," he replied, chuckling as he scanned her email. "She always writes me these long novels. I love it, though. She goes through what they did all day, and sends me snapshots of stuff they did. I guess today she and Paige took the boys to the house we're buying to get one last look at it."

Dean put down his book and moved to stand behind him, scanning the email as Sam scrolled down. His little brother hadn't been kidding – the damn thing would have been six pages long on Microsoft Word. He smiled at a lot of the endearments Al threw in. The pictures were of the boys piled into Sammy's red wagon, grinning from ear to ear and holding popsicles that were dripping all over the place.

"That's cute," he said, patting Sam on the shoulder. "You and Ally working stuff out?"

Sam shrugged and closed his email, going back to research. "We're trying, for Levi's sake. We love each other, we just disagree on a lot of things. I'm trying my best to be as much a part of his life as I can."

"What are you going to do as Ally nears her due date?"

"The babies aren't due until September, Dean."

"So, they're twins. She'll probably be on bedrest the last month or so."

Dean chuckled. "Oh, little brother, you've got _so _much to learn."

"What does that mean?" Sam immediately thundered, taking offense.

He threw his hands up. "Whoa, whoa," he said slowly. "Down, puppy. All I'm saying is, she's going to be having a lot of difficulty the last month or so. Towards the due date, they get hormonal, they're exhausted all the time, they sometimes start to have second thoughts or panic because they think they can't handle it." He sat on the end of the bed and rested his elbows on his knees. "She's going to need you there to reassure her. Believe me, I know you're just as terrified as she is. You've never been through this before, she has – but this time she's got two. She's going to be doubting herself."

"You don't know that. And I am _not _scared."

"Sam," he groaned, palming his face. "You're terrified." He glared at his brother when he tried to protest. "You'd be crazy or stupid if you weren't, and you aren't crazy _or _stupid. Having a baby is scary. Wonderful, but scary. It's a ton of work. And you can't just expect to drive off into the sunset while she's left to do all the work. She's going to need your help. She cannot do this alone." His eyes were suddenly sad. "Come on, Sammy. You know her. You already know this."

Sam's fingers stilled on his laptop as his shoulder slumped. "What if I'm a terrible father, Dean?" he whispered, voice quavering slightly.

Dean patted the bed beside him. "Alright, Sam, plop yourself down. We need to air this out before we go back to the hunt." Sam hesitated, and he just patted the spot again. He was satisfied when Sam did as he asked. "Look," he said, gathering his thoughts. "I was terrified. When Sammy was born, it was the most thrilling moment of my life. I was the first person ever to hold him. It was… Damn, Sam, words can't even explain." He smiled at the memory. "He opened his eyes and looked at me, and it hit me like a freight train. This little boy, this beautiful baby, needed me. For everything. Paige was totally at ease. It made me feel like a failure, like I wasn't normal, because I was so freakin' scared.

"And then, we sat down and talked about it, and whoa and behold, she was as scared as me. Just more… relaxed about it. I kind of just learned to roll with it. It's a learning process. Levi loves you, and I have no doubt these little babies will, too. Okay?"

"Okay," Sam agreed, smiling at the pep talk.

He slapped his shoulder. "Now come on, Sammy. We've got people to save."

* * *

Paige moved through the rooms of the house, studying the high-vaulted ceilings, the openness and airiness of the building. The warms were painted in warm shades, but other than that, the entire place was completely bare. She could hear the kids screeching and playing in the back yard, all except for Brody, who was currently passed out on her shoulder.

"This house is amazing," she said loud enough for Ally to hear her.

"Yeah, I know," Ally beamed as she appeared through the doorway from the kitchen. "I just signed the papers." She went to stand beside her, staring out the window to the back yard. "It's in town, it's got a huge yard and five rooms… not as big as yours, but it'll do."

"I think you and Sam will be happy here, Al."

Ally smiled and put her arm around her best friends' shoulder, careful not to disrupt Brody. "Do you want to put him down, or…?"

"Where?" Paige teased. "On the floor?"

"I have a portacrib in my car, you know," she retorted. "Smart ass."

Paige grinned and rolled her eyes. "That's okay, Al. I like just holding him. He won't be this small and cuddly for much longer."

"Oh, I know," she replied, pouting slightly. "Broke my heart when my baby got like that."

"You've got two more on the way, you know."

"Really, Newbern? I had no idea."

Paige stifled a laugh. "Teasing, Ally."

"I know you are. Jesus, been your friend for how long now?"

"Cradle," she replied thoughtfully.

"Oh yeah, huh?" Ally replied, finger on her chin. "Our grandpas both have that picture hanging in their living rooms. The one of me and you…"

"…sleeping in the same crib," Paige finished for her, grinning. "I know. I got tons of Levi and Sammy sleeping together for them. I figured it would be a cute addition."

"Great idea. You should send that to them for their birthdays."

"I will." Paige sighed and followed Ally back to the kitchen. "So when does all the furniture get moved in?"

"Next few days. I'll just be pointing and issuing orders. The movers are doing most of, if not all of, the work. And we're having a meeting tomorrow to finalize the last parts of the wedding."

"Stressed?"

"I don't even have a dress yet."

"You could always go to Kleinfeld," Paige said thoughtfully.

"I am so _not _going all the way to New York for a wedding dress, Paige, come on," she protested, horrified. "No way."

"You need a dress, Al. They're good, they do custom, and you're rich so price doesn't matter." She shrugged and shifted Brody into a more comfortable position. "Just a thought, Al."

"Hmm."

"That's where I went," Paige called in a sing-song voice.

Ally just rolled her eyes and picked up the phone to call the delivery guys.

**

* * *

**

Richardson, Texas

June 4, 2006

"Do you think those idiots will post what we said?" Dean asked as he dropped his weapons bag down on the bed.

"I hope so. all we have to do is wait for a while." Sam held up the laughing contraption they'd bought. "I think we should put this up on a tree somewhere. It will distract the cops, at least, and hopefully give us time to get inside."

"Yeah, we hope," he grunted, pulling out his sidearm and meticulously pulling it apart to clean it. He treated the weapon with tender care – if it broke, he was a dead man. And that would be bad.

"This should work." Sam rubbed a hand over his face, a smirk tilting his lips. "I cannot _wait _to kill this thing and show up those assholes."

Dean snorted. "More like wannabes," he said scornfully.

"All we have to do is wait."

"I think we should come up with a nickname."

Sam looked at him as if he'd just sprouted another head. "Why the hell would we do that?" he demanded.

Dean leaned against the headboard, crossing his ankles as he methodically scrubbed his sidearm to perfection. "To pass time," he said with a shrug, not even glancing up from his cleaning. "Plus, they annoy the hell out of me, and mocking them would make me feel better.

He smiled and rolled his eyes. Dean could be such a child sometimes. He told his brother so, and Dean chucked a pillow at him without even looking. He was annoyed that it smacked perfectly into the back of his head. "I hate that you can do that," he grumbled, chucking the pillow back and grumbling in annoyance when his brother deflected it. "Show off."

"No-nutts," Dean said suddenly, finally looking up at him. "And winkle."

There was a silence for a long moment before both of them erupted into laughter.

"Who gets to be No-Nutts? Ed, or Harry?"

"Oh, definitely Harry." A gleam had entered Dean's eyes. "And Ed is Winkle. I swear, he's the most annoying person I've ever met in my entire life." He shook his head as he reminisced over the hunter-wannabee's stupidity.

"Well, I say, when this is all over – provided they're still alive, of course – we pull a little prank on them."

There was a gleam in Sam's eyes now, too. He grinned a feral grin. "I've got the perfect plan."

* * *

Ally parked in the ranch's driveway next to Paige's charcoal gray GMC Yukon XL unbuckled her seat belt, opening the door to her black Chevy Tahoe and awkwardly hopping to the ground. Her belly wasn't too heavy yet. Quite the contrary, at seven months, she felt happy and active, as her morning sickness was gone and the aches and pains had yet to start.

She opened the rear door and unbuckled Levi from his car seat, lifting him to her hip.

"Auntie Eee?" Levi said hopefully, recognizing the house.

"Yes, Levi, we're going to see Auntie Paige," she said, stressing her friend's name. She climbed the steps and rapped twice on the door. There was no response, so she rapped again. Still nothing. This time, she rang the doorbell, irritably glancing at her watch, about ready to kick down the door. She calmed herself when she realized could hear shouting inside, and frantic giggles. It was another full minute before she heard someone approaching the door. It flew open suddenly, and she took an involuntary step back in surprise.

"Well, hello there," Noah drawled cheerfully, flashing his famous Clayborne grin, dent in his cheek and all. It wasn't very manly to call it a dimple, as Noah and _dimple_ weren't in the same universe.

He had Owen and Sammy tucked under his arms like footballs, and his black dress shirt was untucked unbuttoned to his waist, his broad muscular chest dotted with scribbles from markers, obviously from Owen as he held two capped markers in his hands. She couldn't help but stare at his well-sculpted abs, as the artist in her was forced to admit his physique was that of a Greek Adonis. Damn, but he was sexy. While she preferred the dark haired, dark eyed, geeky (but amazingly ripped) Sam, she couldn't deny that Noah was one hell of an attractive man.

Noah's grin widened at her inspection of him. When she met his devilish blue eyes again he winked, making her heart flutter. She realized what she was doing then, and blanched in horror, disgusted at herself. Lord, what was she doing, she was an engaged woman…

Her nephew thankfully broke in and provided an excuse for a distraction, and she lowered her gaze from Noah's, annoyed that her cheeks were pink. She smiled down at the boy.

"Auntie Ally!" Owen said, grinning up at her. His face was bright red from being held upside down. "You look funny," he giggled. "Wanna play markers with us?"

"Not now, Owen," Ally said with a smile, slipping past Noah into the house.

"Come on in," he snipped sarcastically to her back, closing the door with his heel and following after her. He sped past her, leading the way to the living room where Paige was sitting cross-legged on the floor playing with her youngest.

"Well, you look like balloon."

Paige looked up and smiled. "Good to see you, too, Al," she said with a chuckle and a wry head shake. She put her hands atop her steadily growing belly. "Noah was nice enough to stop by and play with the boys for a while so I can get some time off my feet."

"Uh-huh," Ally said blandly as she lowered Levi to the floor, gesturing at Noah's bare chest. "This is their idea of playing?"

Noah shrugged and lowered Paige's sons to the ground. "I admit, it got a little out of hand," he said. "Though, you should see Mikey. He's in there," he gestured to the bathroom, "trying to scrub all of the marker off of his face."

"Why?"

The FBI Agent was obviously fighting back a laugh. "The boys decided to make him… uh…" he spluttered slightly, shoulders shaking with silent laughter, "… a cat. Whiskers and all."

"Doesn't Michael hate cats?"

"I…_might_…have encouraged a cat."

Ally shook her head and laughed. "Noah Clayborne, you have a bit of the Devil in you."

He beamed. "Damn straight," he boasted.

She elbowed him.

"I hate you."

They turned to see Michael standing in the doorway, scrubbing his chin with a towel and glaring daggers at his partner. When he lowered the towel, the room broke into laughter – his entire face was bright pink.

"Oho, laugh it up, Clayborne. My vengeance will be sweet."

Noah snorted and plopped down on the ground, propping himself up on his elbows while he encouraged Levi and Sammy to bring blocks over that he could build with. Ally sat on the couch and watched, smiling up at Michael when he appeared with a glass of water for her.

"Thanks," she said as her friend's cousin sat beside her.

"Anytime."

"You know, for supposedly busy FBI Agents, you sure spend a hell of a lot of time here," she said, hoping to get him to talk. He looked like something was bothering him.

Michael studied her for a long moment. "We come here after the especially hard cases," he explained. "Our boss always demands a minimum two days off after the bad ones, unless another emergency comes up. Our unit is only needed in specific cases, so for the most part, we just consult and study case files that local PDs or FBI offices send to us for opinion or tips on the profile."

"So you just got off a bad case, then."

"Mmm," the agent replied, pulling a laptop bag onto his lap and setting the computer on his knees, pulling up a blank page, and beginning to type in earnest. He pulled out an FBI Case File, and started flipping through photographs.

Ally blanched at the crime scene photos, and he glanced over at her, surprised. He quickly snapped the file shut.

"Sorry," he said hurriedly, reaching over to squeeze her shoulder. At her questioning gaze, he sighed. "Our last case. Serial killer in New York. Kidnapping young single women and…" he trailed off at her expression. "We killed him," he offered, and she relaxed.

"What happens to the kids?"

Michael opened and closed his mouth several times, letting out a frustrated breath. "Foster care, for the most part," he admitted, knowing better than to lie to her. Her Italian temper was bad enough without pregnancy hormones added to the mix. "Though, kids with other family members are usually taken by relatives."

Ally's gaze was drawn to Owen, sprawled comfortably across Noah's back, his chin on Noah's shoulder while he watched his little brothers and cousin playing with blocks, occasionally reaching down to help Noah build a tower. She had only just realized that Owen and Brody were some of the lucky ones.

He followed her gaze and nodded. "They're lucky to have Paige and Dean," he said warmly. "Otherwise, they would have been lost in the foster system and probably separated."

It was a bleak picture, and Ally was suddenly very glad that Owen had been accepted into their family with open arms.

Two cell phones rang in almost perfect unison. Noah and Michael sighed in perfect unison and pulled them off of their belts, flipping them open to hold to their ears. They spoke curtly for a minute or so, and Noah nudged Owen off of his back while Michael stuffed everything back into their bags.

"What's the matter?" Paige asked, absently detangling her baby's hands from her hair. "Brody, stop it," she said distractedly.

"No!" he said loudly, pouting up at her.

Paige rolled her eyes and set him on his bottom next to her, holding a hand up. Noah lifted her carefully, holding her hips until he was sure she could stand fine. She gently pushed his hands away and rolled her eyes. "I'm not porcelain," she reminded him.

Noah planted a brotherly kiss on the top of her head and didn't protest. "Michael and I have to go. We've got a new case in Texas," he explained as he buttoned up his shirt, tucked it in, and strapped his gun and badge to his belt.

Michael pulled on his suit jacket and did the same as his partner, laptop bag over his shoulder. He bent to kiss her forehead. "I'm sorry we can't babysit like we promised," he said regretfully.

"Don't worry about it," Paige dismissed. "You guys be safe."

They smiled, hugged both of the women and the kids goodbye, and hurried out the door.

Ally put her hands on her hips. "Our doctor's appointments are in an hour," she pointed out. "What are we going to do?"

Paige picked up her phone and dialed the familiar number, waiting for her to pick up. "Hey, Connie. You know that favor you owe me? I'm calling it in."

* * *

Constance stomped up the drive, unzipping her leather jacket and scrubbing the last of the blood off of her hands, muttering under her breath while she mounted the steps and threw open the front door, immediately seeking the reason for her current rage.

Paige was waiting for her with Brody on her hip. "Hello, Connie," she said cheerfully. Ally appeared behind her. "It's just about one. Their lunches are in the fridge. I taped instructions to the fridge. Please remember not to give them any milk before hand or they won't eat anything. Brody needs to be down for his nap by two, his PJs are up by his crib, there are name plates on the doors so you shouldn't have any trouble." She dropped the one-year-old into her arms. "No television or computers. They know that, but they'll try to tell you its okay with us. It isn't, so don't fall for it. They can play outside as long as they stay in the yard and away from the fields, the tractors, and the horses. No firearms, please." She beamed. "Thanks, Connie. We'll be home by four."

She stood there, mute as a rock lizard, as her temper melted away and Paige and Ally hurried out the door, the door banging shut behind them. Reaching out, she ripped it open and watched Paige's suburban leaving.

"Great," she muttered, looking down at the drooling kid in her arms. She settled him more comfortably onto her hip. "You got big, kiddo."

Brody chewed on his fist as he stared up at her.

Sighing, she turned to the family room, where the three boys were standing looking unsure of themselves. They knew who she was, of course, but they weren't very comfortable around her alone.

The silence dragged on. Connie took a moment to study them.

Owen was tall for his age, with a frame that suggested he'd be a tall, broad-shouldered man. She saw through his lingering baby fat to the handsome face that would develop beneath. His chin was gently squared, his eyes long-lashed and intelligent, their color the most mesmerizing hazel she'd ever seen: they couldn't seem to decide whether they were green, blue, brown, or a mixture of all three. Sammy looked so much like his dad it was almost eerie: she couldn't see a dang thing of Paige in him except for his hair color. Levi was a handsome little fella, with pearly white skin that shaded to pink at his cheeks and big, dark eyes – his face was a mix of Sam and Ally; she recognized Ally's almond-shaped eyes and Sam's nose and chin, but Ally's ears and forehead – all the same the boy was nearly a spitting image of Sam. And Brody, well. She'd never seen bluer eyes in her entire life, or a face so utterly serious.

"So, what do you boys usually do?" she asked awkwardly, not having the slightest idea what she was supposed to do now.

"We could play Legos," Owen suggested in a whisper-soft voice. "Or Tonka trucks."

Connie smiled. "Okay, let's do that."

First it was Legos, then Tonka trucks, then they played wild west. Sammy won the right to play marshal, so Connie obliged him by pretending to die every time he "shot" her.

She was crouching behind the couch, bandana around her neck, waiting for Owen to come sneaking around the corner like she knew he would. As soon as his little face peeked around, his back to her, she made a dramatic banging noise and play-tackled him to the middle of the room, pinning him down and tickling him until he cried. Sammy jumped out from behind a table and pointed his finger at her, taking up a gunfighter pose that was so dang cute she had difficultly resisting a laugh.

Clasping her hands over her heart, she flopped over onto her back, gurgling dramatically as Levi and Owen shrieked with laughter, while Sammy blew on the end of his finger.

"I win," he announced cheekily.

"You do," Connie agreed. "You're the finest Marshal of them all, Marshal Winchester."

Sammy beamed and held his arms up.

Connie was surprised. She'd only been here an hour, and they boys seemed to have warmed to her considerably. She reached down and picked him up, holding him awkwardly in her arms so that he was facing her. He wiggled, trying to hook his leg around her hip. She let him, and he wiggled a little more to get comfortable in the crook of her arm before finally beaming up at her.

Oh. So _that _was how you held kids.

She carried him to the table, little Brody tottering after them. He was walking better now than last time, and was picking up vocabulary like lightning. Apparently, his favorite word was "NO", because when she asked him if he wanted some apples with his lunch, he bellowed that exact word in her face so loud, her own father would have been proud.

Startled, she stood, the bowl of chopped apples held awkwardly in her hands.

"That means yes," Owen said matter-of-factly, taking a bite of his crustless sandwich. "He yells it a lot. It annoys mama but it makes papa smile."

"Mama and papa?" she repeated, dishing the baby some apples and finding herself pleased when he picked up a piece and started gnawing on it. "Is that what you call them?"

"Sometimes," the little boy said with a smile. "Mostly just mommy and daddy. They say I spend too much time around Uncle Bruce. He talks funny."

"Daddy sah he Scops," Sammy said cheekily with a giggle.

"Scot." Owen patted Sammy on the shoulder to lessen the scold in his correction.

"Wha mean?"

Owen shrugged. "I dunno what it means either, Sammy, but daddy says its awesome."

Sammy smiled at comment and went back to his lunch. She took the opportunity to put Brody to bed as soon as they were finished. Owen would keep Levi and Sammy occupied – she hoped – so she settled Brody down and tried to figure out how in the hell to put on a diaper.

Brody squirmed and giggled the entire time. She tried her best not to lose her patience, and finally figured out how she was supposed to attach the dang thing. Thankfully, she didn't get peed on. Keeping her hand on him so he wouldn't roll off or try to stand, she grabbed the pajamas Paige had set out. They were bear pajamas, and dare she say it, freaking cute.

Now, getting him into it was damn near impossible. He did nothing but _wiggle_.

"Will you hold still?" she demanded, exasperated. She wrestled him into the garment and buttoned it up, then setting him down in the crib with a teddy bear. He sat there staring up at her, big fat tears in his eyes. He then held his hands up and pressed all of his fingers together.

"I don't speak sign language, Brody. Have a good nap," she said, closing the door behind her. Almost immediately, she heard him cry. Leaning against the door for a moment, she let out a sigh.

This was damned exhausting.

She crept down the stairs and found the boys playing quietly with trucks and cars, pushing them around on the floor. A sudden idea struck her.

"Hey, boys," she called, waving them over. "You want to try something fun?"

…

Dean whistled while he scrubbed his hair clean. They'd bid the Lonestar Losers goodbye, having finished the case at long last, burning down the damn building to stop the friggin topa. A shower was a must, seeing as he smelled like dirt and smoke, which, knowing his wife, would earn him a slap or two.

The hot water soothed his weary muscles. He hadn't had a good nights sleep in a week, and every moment his head wasn't in the case, it was focused on his family, namely his wife. Most of his time was spent worrying about her – in her condition, taking care of three energetic little boys was bound to be exhausting.

A shrill ring made him jump. His cell phone was ringing. He wrapped a towel around his waist and stepped out of the shower, digging the offending object out of his jeans pocket, flipping it open, and holding it to his ear.

"Go ahead," he said in a clipped voice, making a mental note to get caller ID.

"Dean, it's Noah."

"What's up?"

"We've got a case, we had to leave. we won't be back until the end of the week at least. Sorry, man, I know I promised to be there with her."

Dean told him not to worry about it, bid him good luck, and hung up the phone.

There was sudden yell from outside the bathroom. Dean flung open the door and stepped out, quickly assessing there was no danger, only his brother standing in the middle of the room holding his ass.

"What?" he demanded.

Sam's eyes were wide with shock. "I don't know!" he bellowed, wincing again, "but OW!"

"The hell is the matte–" a yelp finished his sentence when he felt a sharp pain in his stomach, doubling over with a roar of pain. He couldn't even move to help his little brother as Sam crashed to the floor moaning in pain.

* * *

Paige laughed and turned down the music. "Oh, this was so much fun," she gushed, grinning at her best friend, lounging in the passenger seat. They'd spent six hours without the kids, first going to their checkups to be told that their babies were perfectly healthy, and that next, to celebrate at Jay's for lunch, and then head over to Nursery World for some baby shopping that they'd gone a little overboard with.

"I agree," Ally said, hands rubbing her stomach. "I didn't see any fire trucks leaving the firehouse, either, which means Connie _didn't _set your house on fire."

"She wouldn't dare," she replied with a grin. "I would kill her."

"Was this really a good idea, though?"

"Oh, the kids are fine, Ally. Despite popular belief, Connie usually likes kids. Those she dislikes she scares or ignores, but for the most part, she just doesn't know what to do with them. Oh, don't look at me like that. I'm being serious."

Ally knew better than to argue with her friend's raging hormones. The suburban pulled onto the drive, stopping on the driveway next to hers.

Paige held her breath as she opened the door and stepped inside. She heard laughter from the living room, and the endearing full-blown giggle that she recognized as Brody's, followed by a deeper one she knew to be Owen's. She knew Ally was hot on her heels.

It was Connie's voice that gave her pause.

"You stick that shut there, Sammy. Good job, that's exactly how you do it. Now, remember, you have to be careful with these. One can never be too cautious," Connie was saying. "Voodoo Is a very particular art."

She burst into the living room and froze in absolute shock. Constance was sitting cross-legged on the ground, holding up a doll that looked remarkably like Sam and demonstrating how to poke it in the butt with a needle.

And her babies – her precious, sweet, innocent little babies – were joining in.

Paige and Ally's combined enraged bellow could have been heard in Russia.

"CONSTANCE!"

* * *

_There was a shift in the peace around him. He ignored it, hoping the disturbance would go away._

_He should have known better._

_A familiar presence settled beside him, his movement causing a swish of air through the previously perfectly still environment._

_"It's getting worse," he said quietly, gazing downward. He turned his gaze to his companion, eyes troubled._

_"All things must get worse before they get better," his companion replied gravely, eyes scanning the endless sky. He returned his gaze to the man beside him. "You already know this. I need not tell you so."_

_"Maybe I do know of it already," he said softly. "That doesn't mean I have to like it."_

_"You hold too much stock in your old life, youngling."_

_"My life isn't here."_

_"What are you going to do about it? It's not like you can leave this place."_

_"I'm going to."_

_"How?"_

_"As soon as I figure it out, I'll let you know."_

* * *

**E/N**: Hey, guys. Took me forever to update, I know, and I'm sorry but I've been swamped with school and family. This is mostly just for chuckles. :) I'm gearing up for baby Jace – he arrives next chapter!

**As always,  
REVIEWS=LOVE**

**Please click the button! I'm lacking in inspiration, and each given is like air. Literally. :D**


	34. Chapter 34

**A/N**: The momentous day has finally arrived…

**Disclaimer:** Same as the last 33 chapters...

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Four  
**Panic, Mishaps, and General Mayhem

**Thunder Creek, WY  
**June 4, 2006

"You are teaching my children VOODOO, Constance. And you expect me to react to this _lightly_?"

"There's no need to shout at me, Ally."

"No need to…" Ally was so enraged she couldn't finish her sentence.

"I think the more pressing question is _why_ you were teaching our children voodoo," Paige cut in, making an effort to keep her voice down, seeing as her sons and nephew were staring up at her with wide eyes.

Connie shrugged. "Because I was bored," she said nonchalantly.

"Bored! You were _bored_?"

"Ally, this screaming really is irritating."

"Irritating? Well, I'm sorry, but you are doing things with _children_ that I should kill you for!"

"I really think you just broke the sound barrier, there, Ally."

"What in the world could POSSIBLY possess you to show my son how to poke needles into something that is harming his father?"

Connie had grown born of the shouting, especially now that Ally had switched over to Italian and no one could understand her. "It's not like it physically hurts him, Ally, it's just a sharp prod is all."

Ally clenched her hands, threw her head back, and growled like a furious pit bull, stomping her feet in pure frustration.

"Did you seriously just stomp your feet?" Connie demanded, eyes wide.

"Burn them."

"No."

She recoiled as Ally truly lost it, shoving her backwards through the door and slamming the door behind her, proceeding to give Connie a piece of her mind in three different languages.

Paige lifted Brody to her hip, her eyes wide. "Do my eyes deceive me, baby B, or is Auntie Connie actually terrified?" she whispered, grinning as she watched Connie – the fearless fighter – beating a hasty retreat. Ally advanced forward, speaking quickly and fiercely, and Connie flinched more than once.

"Mommy."

Paige looked down to see Owen and Sammy looking up at her, eyes wide and earnest, with their 'voodoo dolls' clutched tight in their hands. "Yes, honey?" she said, not quite sure which of the two boys had spoken. She smiled when Sammy reached up to grab her hand.

"I think auntie Ally won."

She laughed and ruffled his hair. "I think so too, buddy."

xxx

Dean slammed the door of the Impala and slung his duffel over his shoulder. Every muscle in his body was tense, waiting for the next jab of pain. Granted, the pain hadn't returned for almost twelve hours, but still. It was no coincidence that both he and Sam had suffered from the same damn thing.

A gentle breeze stirred the leaves upon the drive, and with it, the familiar smells of home wafting through the open kitchen windows, thrown wide to capture the warmth of this lovely summer day. He'd dropped Sam in town (driving off lest he be forced to watch their make-out session) and come straight here.

The dogs came bolting around the side of the house, yipping playfully and lapping at his hands. He laughed and scratched their ears before he shooed them, wiping his hands on his pants, heading around the house to where he knew his family would be.

Paige smiled at him but didn't move from her place on the porch swing, hands resting on her belly. He turned from her to receive the flood of enthusiastic children, Sammy in the lead. He enveloped the little boy in his arms and squeezed tight, shuffling Sammy to one arm while he accepted the waddling Brody into his embrace as all.

"Did you take care of mommy for me?" he asked Sammy, rubbing noses with him.

Sammy grinned and nodded enthusiastically. "Alked bab Jace ebery day," he said proudly.

"You talked to him every day? Good job," he praised, nuzzling his boy's cheek. "And did you help your mama around the house?"

He nodded again. "Mo and ish," he beamed, scrunching his shoulders up in pleasure.

"Mopping _and _sweeping, wow. You did good. I bet your mommy loved having you help, too."

"Daddy, pah tucks?"

"Sure, Sammy. I'll play trucks with you and Brody. Just let me go say hello to mommy first, okay?"

"Otay."

Dean kissed them both on the forehead and set them down, carrying his duffel bag up the steps and tossing it beside the door. He squatted before his wife, the twinkle back in his eye at long last. Resting his elbows on his knees, he just looked at her, eyes roaming from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.

Paige looked down at him, a smile curving her lips. At his continued examination, her eyebrow arched, one hand absently rubbing her stomach. "Are you just going to stare at me all day, or what?" she said softly.

He leaned forward then, eyes twinkling with a new light. His eyes fixed on her stomach. "Whose eyes do you think he'll have?" Before she could answer, he sat beside her and pulled her into his arms, stretching out lengthwise on the swing, pulling her down so that her back rested against his chest.

"Probably yours," she said softly as she relaxed into his embrace, sighing in contentment when his cheek rested against hers. "We missed you."

"I think I drove Sam nuts," he confessed, turning his head to press his lips gently to her neck. "Worrying all the time, about you, about the kids. I think I need a break from hunting for a while."

"I would hope so," she said. His heat was making her drowsy, especially when he shifted her to a more comfortable position and wrapped his arms tightly around her. "This baby won't wait for you to be home."

"I know."

"He'll be here soon. Stubborn little guy, this one. Just like his papa."

Dean smiled and inhaled her scent. For the first time in a week, he could relax. "Something weird happened," he announced, needing to talk with her. "Sam and I were suffering from bizarre and random pains. Major ones. It was odd." He looked at her when he felt her shaking, and when he forced her to look at him, he realized it was from silent laughter.

"What's so funny?" he demanded.

"Voodoo," she explained, choking on another giggle.

"Voodoo?"

Paige nodded. "As in, voodoo dolls," she elaborated.

His eyes narrowed to slits. "I see," he said darkly, his temper boiling. "And who, pray tell, it responsible for said voodoo dolls?"

"A friend."

"Which friend?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"So I can kill him."

"No."

"No what?" he demanded.

"You're not going to kill anyone. It was just a little fun."

"It was damned painful, is what it was. Not to mention rude, and damned cruel."

Paige grinned. "Fine, then. I'm not telling."

"Oh, really."

"Really."

Dean leaned forward until their noses were touching, unleashing his most intimidating glare upon her. It wasn't working, and they both knew it. He couldn't intimidate her. "Who was it?" he growled.

"Why are you acting like an injured bear?"

"Maybe I _am _an injured bear." His look hardened. "I'm serious. Who the hell made voodoo dolls of me and Sam? That's damned dangerous, Paige."

"I know it is. Which is why I had them destroyed properly," she said cheerfully. Her grin widened when she saw the muscle in his jaw tense and his eyelid start to twitch. It was a thoroughly enjoyable angry reaction, and to anyone else he probably looked terrified, but to her he was sexy as hell.

"Who made them?"

She shrugged daintily and snuggled deeper into his chest, hand trailing absent circles on his shirt. "It's not important," she yawned.

It hit him then.

"Connie."

Her name was said on a vicious growl. Sitting up, he shifted her off of him and stood, fists clenching.

Paige suppressed a groan. She neither confirmed nor denied Connie's involvement, fearing for her friend's life at the moment. He was yelling at her, but she wasn't paying any attention – her eyes were too focused on the flush slowly creeping up his neck.

"WHY DID SHE DO THIS?"

"She was babysitting," she defended her friend. "They were bored."

Dean had fallen silent. Too late, she realized her slip. His entire face was red now.

"She taught our babies how to made _voodoo _dolls?" he said in a whisper-soft voice that shook with fury. The muscle in his jaw was jumping like crazy, and before she could restrain him, he spun on his heel and stomped down the stairs, demanding in a mild voice that Connie show herself.

"I tried to help," she whispered, knowing Connie could hear her. "I don't' think I did a very good job. Your move now, Con."

And she sat back to watch the fireworks.

* * *

_June 28, 2006_

Paige sighed and rolled her eyes, beyond annoyed at Dean. She was propped up in bed by about a thousand pillows, heaped with blankets, and about ready to scream and rant like a psychopath just because she could. It was hotter than hell in the room. She dabbed her forehead with a corner of one of the blankets and shoved them off of her to Dean's side of the bed.

This idiocy had started on that incident now dubbed "Dean's Blow-Up". He'd lost his temper, truly lost his temper, for the first time in his entire life when he'd confronted Connie about the damned voodoo dolls. They'd screamed and ranted and he'd given her hell, but that was okay because Connie gave it right back. Both had been fresh from a hunt, both of them frustrated and angry and irritated, and naturally, had taken it out on each other.

Dean had exiled her from their land, and Connie had exiled him from her life. She new refused to even listen to his name, and only teleported in for visits when he was in the field. Both of their prides had been wounded.

It was frustrating – she had no idea what insults they'd thrown at each other, all she knew was that they ignored each other's existence and claimed to hate each other. In her opinion, Dean was pissed about the voodoo dolls, and Connie was pissed at their dad, so she was taking it out on Dean.

The whole thing really was a big mess. Dean had ordered her not to even speak to her childhood friend… so she didn't. Until he left the house. Then she chatted with her for hours, but try as she might, couldn't get Connie to admit anything about their fight. She'd wanted to make Connie this baby's godmother, but Dean was hearing none of it. Every time she tried to bring it up, he stomped out of the room.

Over the next few weeks, it had only gotten worse. Dean obviously had something eating up his insides, but he refused to talk about it, no matter how hard she poked and prodded. He was pissed at Sam and his dad alike, probably because of the recent mishaps, first with Meg and then with the vampires. Every time John and Sam fought, Dean got irritated and closed up like a clam, and quite frankly at nine months pregnant she just didn't have the energy to try to pry him open again.

His behavior had been hurtful there for a few days. He'd been short-tempered and in a perpetual bad mood, so much so that even the kids avoided him, spending the majority of their time outside with the dogs and the horses. He'd only snapped out of it when she'd pointed out that the boys were uneasy when he was so volatile. And, of course, he'd refused to talk about it.

_He is the most infuriating man_, she thought. Naturally, he walked through the door at exactly that moment, yet another stack of freaking quilts balanced in his arms. He came to her side of the bed and attempted to spread them on the fifteen already squishing her to death.

"Dean, stop," she ordered harshly. "I'm dying in here. Open that damn window."

Dean was fidgeting nervously, which, in her opinion, was strange. He wasn't a fidget-er. He was solid, steady, and her own personal rock. Or at least, he used to be. Until her due date approached. Then, he started acting like a crazed maniac.

"Pete said bed rest," he reminded her. "And to keep you warm."

"It's one hundred and two degrees outside, Dean. If you keep piling these quilts on me, I'm going to evaporate." She sat up in bed, hands on her massive stomach. "He's not due for another week. I need some fresh air."

Dean relented and helped her out of bed, keeping one arm around her waist all the way down the stairs to the front porch. He helped settle her onto the swing, kissed her on the top of the head, and trotted across the lawn to play with their boys, keeping his body turned so that she was in his peripheral vision.

Paige rolled her eyes and wiggled to get comfortable, an impossible task given the baby's bulk. She did the best she could under the circumstances, twisting and turning this way and that until she felt relatively comfortable stretched out on the swing. She then proppedher book on her belly and picked up where she'd left off.

The routine had been like this since he'd gotten home from Texas. Every morning, he got up with the kids and got them ready, including feeding them breakfast. She was extremely sleepy all the time, napping for about half of the day, and everything ached and was uncomfortable. Dean was a fantastic dad and husband, occupying the kids most of the day and giving her amazing massages after they'd gone to sleep. He'd become more snuggly recently, too, which according to science was his body's natural response to her own raging pregnancy hormones. He talked to Jace constantly, so much so that she was certain Jace would know his voice.

He'd left once more about a week ago, for an emergency hunt in Colorado that involved the death of Daniel Elkins, an old friend of both of their families, leaving Jared, Elliot, Noah, and Michael to look after her. Daniel's death had led to the discovery of vampires (which Paige had been surprised Sam and Dean didn't know about) and a meet-and-greet with their father, John. At the end of that hunt, they'd broken up (again) and come back home. Dean had been overprotective as hell – she couldn't walk by herself, go down the stairs, take a shower, or cook alone, because he was so damn worried that she would slip and fall and hurt herself and the baby. The only small comfort was that he'd been exactly the same way with Sammy, and had eventually gotten over it when their son was born. He was acting neurotic – she found it both annoying and adorable, and everyone else found it hilarious.

She heard the crunch of gravel and looked up from her book to see a black SUV and a white pickup truck. Noah and Michael stepped out and waved at her, and from the truck emerged Jared and Elliot, who also waved at her. She waved back and proceeded to ignore them, knowing perfectly well why they were there.

Their voices drifted on the breeze. She didn't even look up when hands grasped her feet, lifted them, and dropped them into a warm lap. As soon as hands started massaging her feet, she lowered the book to frown at Jared.

"Don't you have a wife at home?" she asked drily.

"Rachel's in California. Her sister went into labor this morning," Jared explained with a soft smile. "I haven't seen you in a while, so I thought I'd stop by and say hey."

Paige lifted an eyebrow, not falling for it. "Hey," she said emotionlessly, and lifted her book again.

"The honeymoon was amazing," he said, hooking a finger over her book and snatching it away before she could protest. "Fiji was a very good idea."

"Of course it was. I own the damn island, you know. Half of it, anyway." She folded her hands on her stomach. "I'm glad you enjoyed it."

"So am I."

She snatched her book back. "I don't need to be babysat, Jared."

"Am I that obvious?" Jared said sheepishly, grinning.

She shook her head and propped her book up again. "My husband is," she explained absently while she searched for the paragraph she'd left off on. "He's been acting like a mental patient for the past two weeks. It's almost like he expects me to fall over at any second."

Jared laughed and started rubbing her feet again. "He loves you," he pointed out. "The idea of you getting hurt terrifies him."

Paige dropped her book down again, arching an eyebrow and frowning at him. "I'm a soldier, and a hunter. I'm going to get hurt sooner or later. Hell, I've gotten hurt hundreds of times before. Quite frankly, it's damn insulting."

"Who hurt you?" Jared quietly asked.

Now she was irritated. "A better question is what, number one, and number two, just about everything that goes bump in the night was trying to kill me or eat me at one point or another. Yeesh, you're as bad as him." She shook her head and went back to reading, determined to ignore the irritating men in her life. There were too many of them, in her opinion – she needed more estrogen around. Where was Ally when she needed her, honestly.

"Well, Dean seems to have conveniently forgotten that you're a hunter, too." Jared shrugged and shifted, her feet bouncing into the air before landing in his lap again. "Like it or not, squirt, you're stuck with us."

"Define 'us'."

"Me, Elliot, Noah, Michael, Jake, Michal David, Bruce, Jay…"

"Stop," she commanded, drawing the word out with a groan and closing her eyes, holding her hand up. "Just… stop. So basically, you're saying he's sticking the whole damn town on me, at least, the male half." Jared grinned, and in response, she unleashed a lethal glare that only made him laugh. She blew out a frustrated breath and suddenly didn't care if she sounded surly; she was going to whine anyway.

"Suddenly, I can't wait for this baby to get here. Then he can stop acting like a maniac. I take pity on Rachel, because I know you idiots will do exactly the same thing to her."

"Will not."

His tone was immediately defensive, and too late, he realized that's exactly what she'd been after. His hands stilled on her feet as he stared at her. "Okay, I will," he admitted in a grumble. "But," he immediately qualified when her mouth opened, "it's because I love her and I don't want her or Ryder to get hurt."

"I understand, Jared. All I ask is that you all stop treating me like an invalid and show her the same respect. I'm not going to get hurt. Before any of you know it, Jace will be here and all the drama will be over. We'll finally be able to relax." She tipped her book up again, deciding to ignore him.

Jared reached out and gently pulled the book from her hand, setting it on the arm of the swing and ignoring her irritated grumbling. "Paige, about what I was saying at the nursery," he began quietly, eyes fixed on the ceiling. "Do you ever, you know…"

"See him?" she finished for him when he trailed off. He nodded but didn't look at her.

"No," she admitted softly, stacking her hands on her stomach and studying the freckles on her left forearm. She glanced at him and noticed how crestfallen his expression was. "I hear him."

"I guess I'm just crazy th…wait, what?" His silver-gray eyes fixed on hers, startled. When she nodded, he didn't look like he knew what to say. "So… we're either both crazy, or…"

"…or Chris is somehow communicating with us," she finished for him, again. "By appearing to you, and by talking to me. Pete's seen him, too." At her cousin's astonished expression, she nodded. "He said that when he was operating on me, he saw him in the corner of the room. Chris demanded him to save my life, and then vanished. He told Dean."

Jared fell silent, seeming to be lost in thought. His hands started massaging her feet again, and man, did it feel heavenly. She momentarily forgot her irritation with Dean (a part of her knew he was just an overprotective idiot sometimes) and leaned backwards. Since he was distracted, she took time to study his profile. He was handsome, that was sure. His dark brown hair had grown longer than usual, curling slightly at the nape of his neck. There were deep shadows under his eyes, and his face looked drawn; he hadn't been sleeping well, that much was obvious. She hadn't either.

"We don't need a psychiatrist," Paige said when his expression changed. "We're not crazy, Jared."

"How often do you hear him?"

"Randomly."

"But how often?"

She sighed, irritated by his persistent questioning. In her private opinion, the man should have become a detective. "I don't know, Jared, it depends. At first, I heard him all the time. Lately, though, he's gotten quieter and quieter. Last time he spoke, which was a while ago, he said he was quiet because it seemed I wanted him to be quiet. So I don't know. I can't explain it, but it's him. I would know that voice if I was dead."

"Maybe that's it," Jared said suddenly, pushing off the floor with his boot, sending the swing gently rocking to and fro. "Did you flatline?"

Paige nodded. "More than once," she added.

"So did I," he said.

"I know, Jare. I thought I was going to die from the worry. You had so many surgeries…"

"I'm fine now," he cut her off, rolling his eyes. "Chill out, mama bear."

"Says the man who's stalking me at my husband's orders," Paige retorted with a smile. That smile faded as she returned to seriousness. "Do you really think that's it, though?"

"Could be."

"I hate to burst your bubble, buddy, but I was hearing Chris long before our trial."

Jared sighed and suddenly looked extremely grumpy. "So was I," he muttered. "Well, this sucks."

* * *

July 1, 2006

Dean stood quietly beside the couch. He'd just put the boys down for a nap, and when he'd come back downstairs, he'd found his wife passed out on the couch. As carefully as he could, he spread a blanket over her, tucking the edges under her body, bending to tenderly kiss her on the forehead.

"What are you doing?" she mumbled sleepily without opening her eyes.

"Wishing I had your job," he responded with a chuckle as she opened her eyes to shoot him a half-hearted glare. He crouched beside her, resting his hand on her forehead, thumb stroking her skin. "Sleeping all day must be mighty-stressful."

Paige slapped his chest lightly. "I can't help it," she defended herself.

"I know, baby," he whispered, leaning in closer to capture her lips for a tender kiss. "Just how tired are you?"

"Exhausted," she whispered, yawning hugely to prove it. "And I've still got two weeks to go."

He scooped her up in his arms and sat on the couch with her in his lap, cradling her in his arms. She twisted until she was comfortable, her cheek resting in the crook of his neck. She was slowly falling back asleep, but he wouldn't let her. She lifted her head when he shook her and patiently waited for him to tell him what he wanted to… and then she'd go back to sleep.

"Are we going to the Fourth of July party?"

"Oh, crap," Paige groaned, dropping her head to his shoulder again.

"What?"

"I forgot all about it." She sighed and mulled it over for a while. "Of course we're going. Owen has never seen anything like it and he's been excited all week. We can't cancel on him. Don't look at me like that, Dean."

Dean pursed his lips but remained silent. "Honey," he began, deciding to be diplomatic. "Your due date is next week. You can't go stomping around a party with three kids, trying to keep them in line. Being on your feet isn't good."

Paige refrained from pointing out that the purpose of having feet was being able to walk, figuring that in his current mental state she'd only irritate him further. It seemed to be her turn to be diplomatic. "I'm going." She put her finger to his lips when he started to protest. "If you're going to protest that much, I'll stick with Elliot in his golf cart he brings every year. That way, we can keep Brody with us, and I'll still be there but not on my feet. Would that make you happy?"

"Yes," he conceded, pleased he'd somewhat gotten his way. He gave her a squeeze and nuzzled her cheek. "What if he comes before the fourth?"

"Then he comes before the fourth," she sighed, closing her eyes again.

"And if he comes on the fourth?"

"Dean, for heaven's sake. This baby will come when he's ready to come, and not a second before."

He didn't argue with her, just leaned back in the couch and held her in his arms, content. There was no need for him to work the fields; they'd hired Cody Jackson to help Ty, Hank, and Chuck, and had hired two more teens, Cody's cousin Mark and Lennox, the ex-sniper he'd fought beside during what everyone had started to call the "Tank Incident".

"One last question," he said softly, his warm breath tickling her ear. He chuckled when he groaned, obviously irritated by his constant interruptions. "Amy brought it up when I saw her at the hardware store yesterday."

"When did you go to the hardware store?"

"Yesterday," he patiently repeated.

"Obviously, smart-ass. What for?"

"Don't you worry your pretty little head about that, missy," he said easily, ignoring her irritated snort. "Amy pointed out to me that Jace may be safer if we do a c-section."

"No," Paige said, shaking her head. "I want to do a natural birth, Dean. His heart is showing perfectly normal – Amy told me that as long as his heart rate is stable, I can do it naturally. If his heart becomes stressed, then we'll do a c-section."

"Honey…"

"No, Dean."

The fear in her voice suddenly cut through to him. He pulled back and noticed how pale her face was. "Hey," he said gently, turning her towards him and studying her face. "Look at me." Her eyes didn't lift, so he bumped her under the chin. "What's wrong?"

"I don't want to be cut."

There, she said it. Her cheeks tinged pink with embarrassment over admitting her illogical fear. She tried to drop her eyes again, but he wouldn't let her, holding her chin firmly and studying her face, his eyes boring into hers to the point of making her uncomfortable under his gaze.

"Where is this coming from? You've never had a problem with knives before," Dean said, struggling to understand the clear terror in her gaze and on her face.

"It's not knives I have a problem with. It's getting cut."

"Why…" he trailed off as it dawned on him. Of course. "Babe, is this a throwback from what happened to you and Jared?"

She slowly nodded. "I just… I don't…." she trailed off, choking on the words as she started to shake her head. "I can't. I can't, Dean."

"Okay, okay," he soothed, hugging her tightly. "Calm down." He felt wetness on his neck and immediately felt bad. "I'm sorry for bringing it up, I know you're a little hormonal and stressed out at the moment."

"I'm being stupid," she sniffed, not even bothering to let go of him. "I'm sorry, I'm so weepy lately I cry at the stupidest things, and I…"

Dean let her brush it off and didn't push the issue.

Paige was usually relatively reasonable and calm… sometimes. Now, however, she burst into tears (which she never did normally) and went into rages over the silliest little things. He knew for a fact that all pregnant women went a little crazy.

His wife was no exception.

* * *

July 4, 2006

Dean glanced at his watch and huffed out an irritated huff. "Owen Michael," he bellowed in the direction of the stables. "Clock's ticking! Let's go! Patch will be there when we get back."

He headed around one side of the suburban, and noticed that Owen hadn't budged from his position beside Patch, petting his head while the gelding leaned over the fence of his paddock.

"Owen," he roared. "Now." When Owen turned, he pointed at the car, and was pleased when Owen came racing over at top speed, one hand resting on the top of his hat to keep it from flying off. Despite his irritation he had to admit his kid looked cute – he was in jeans, black cowboy boots, a white long-sleeved shirt, his black Stetson, and a belt buckle with red, white, and blue crystals. "Climb over the dogs."

Owen obeyed, clamoring over Zeus and Percy to his seat and buckling himself in.

Shaking his head, Dean got into the driver's seat and buckled his own seat belt, putting the car in drive and heading towards town for the annual Fourth of July barbeque celebration that Paige and the rest of the Town Council had been planning for the past couple of weeks. They sang silly songs the entire way, until Dean pulled into a parking spot in front of Jay's and turned off the engine, turning to his wife.

"Off my feet, I know," she said before he could open his mouth, smiling gently at him. "I'll sit her obediently while you deal with our sons."

Dean grinned and gave her a quick peck on the lips before doing just that, unbuckling Brody and settling him on his hip while he helped Sammy undo his, lowering the two-year-old to the ground with one hand. Owen was raring to leave, seeing as he'd spotted his new best friend John Bradley in the crowd, walking along with Amy. Dean waved them over.

"Happy fourth," Amy said cheerfully, watching Dean lift Sammy and Brody into the wagon and grinning over the little boys' attire: miniature cowboy, just like Owen. She set Chris in with them, hugging her brother-in-law. "Where's Paige?"

"Here," Paige replied as she came around the side of the car, hand on her stomach. "I know," she added at Amy's stare. "I'm enormous." She grinned and hugged her sister-in-law anyway, ruffling JB's hair and smiling at the twins, who were dressed in identical red-white-and-blue sundresses. "You girls look beautiful today."

Dean spotted Jared and slipped an arm around Paige's waist, leading their group down the sidewalk towards the park. Rachel was seated on the bench at Jared's insistence, and Paige moved off to join her, settling down beside her friend.

Rachel looked tired but happy. "Hey," she said cheerfully, eyes on her stomach. "You look like you're about to pop."

"Don't remind me," Paige groaned, rubbing her shoulder. "My husband has also literally lost his mind. I've been ordered to sit here until Elliot comes by to pick me up in his golf cart thing. I see Jare did the same for you."

She nodded and smiled faintly. "Jared is a bit of a…worrywart," she said hesitantly, laughing over the admission. "And a bit of a control-freak, too."

"How's your sister?"

"Good," Rachel said, instantly cheering up. "She gave birth to a healthy baby girl she named Mackenzie."

"Pretty name."

"I agree." She watched Paige's sons playing with Amy's kids and smiled when Jared lifted JB to his back for a piggy back ride. "Where's Ally?"

"Her and Sam live in town now," Paige explained. "They're around somewhere, I'm sure." She scanned the crowd and spotted Sam coming towards them. "Speak of the devil, there they are now."

Rachel and Paige watched Sam lead Ally over to where they were sitting, Levi perched on his shoulder and looking around excitedly at all the people and colors. "Oh boy," Rachel said with a laugh. "It looks like Sam is about to bench Ally, too."

Sure enough, Sam did exactly that. He led her straight to the bench, gently nudged her so she sat down, pointed a finger at her, and said in a no-nonsense voice, "Stay." He turned to them, his smile bright. "Hey Paige, Rachel. How are you doing?"

"Good, how are you?" Paige said cheerfully.

"Fine, thanks," Rachel said at exactly the same time.

Sam looked at Paige's stomach. "Are you sure you don't have two in there?" he questioned uncertainly.

"No, that would be me," Ally corrected, motioning how her stomach was only slightly smaller than Paige's. "And I've got until September to go."

Levi had been waving excitedly at his aunt the entire time, and Paige waved back with a smile. "How you doing, Lee?"

"Okay," he said cheerfully, tugging on his balloon. "Gots oon."

"Cool balloon. Did your daddy get that for you?"

"Uh-huh."

"Why don't you go say hi to Uncle Dean and your cousins?" Paige said as Sam lowered him to the ground. He did just that, racing off to join them, climbing up into the wagon without having to be prodded.

Sam bent to give Ally quite the thorough kiss, winked at Rachel and Paige's stunned expressions, and sauntered off to join the growing group of men, Dean and Jared included. The kids just went off to play with other kids, watched as a whole by the community.

"I see you to have…" Paige searched for the word.

"Rekindled," Rachel offered, grinning now.

Paige nodded in agreement with Rachel. "Yes, rekindled your relationship," she said, smiling also. Ally looked positively radiant. "I take it Sam finally figured it all out?"

"Oh, yes," Ally said with a sigh. "He's so sweet. After he came home from Texas he said he was tired of holding onto Jess, and while he will always try to avenge her, has given up trying not to love me. He tells me he does every morning now, and he talks to the kids and plays with Levi, and is even making noises about getting a dog," she gushed. "Now I understand why you and Dean are always so deliriously happy. That's exactly how I feel."

"Well, I'm glad. I was plotting murder for a while there," Paige said, patting her friend's back.

Ally finally snapped to full attention. "Wait a second, what the heck are you doing out here? You're about to have a baby!"

Jay had been walking by just then and froze, dropping his ice cream cone as he rushed over. "You're having the baby?" he demanded loudly, hands fluttering over her but not actually touching her as he went into full controlled panic mode, having done this three times with his own wife.

"No," Paige said quickly, but too late. Everyone was panicking now.

"She's having the baby," someone shouted, pointed at Paige. "Someone get Elliot over here. Where's Dean? There he is. DEAN! Your wife is having the baby!"

Paige was glaring daggers at Ally, who was mortified over the commotion she'd started, while Rachel just threw her head back and laughed her butt off.

Jay and Pete grabbed Paige and lifted her off the bench, shouting incoherently over the ruckus of the festival while Dean rushed over, looking panicked but determined. Paige dug her heels in and tried to pull free, but they were having none of it. She shot her friend a pleading look, but Ally was too shocked over the mishap and Rachel was too busy wiping tears of laughter from her cheeks.

"I'm not in labor," she said for the thousandth time.

"Of course not, dear, your water hasn't broken yet," elderly Mrs. Potts said cheerfully, walking with the mob.

"I'm not going into labor," she insisted louder, trying to tug her arms free. "Dean, for God's sake, I'm not going into labor!"

Either he couldn't hear her or was too panicked, because none of the men seemed to be listening. Hell, even Noah was tugging on his hair as if he didn't know quite what to do. Wait, Noah? When the heck did he get here? Oh, lovely. Michael was running with the rest of who he supposed was his FBI BAU team, because they were making a beeline for two black SUVs, probably to give her an escort to the hospital.

Paige dug her heels in harder, suddenly very annoyed over this entire situation. She sucked in a deep breath and decided to hell with it, she was going with the military voice. "I'm not going into labor," she bellowed at the top of her voice. Her statement rang through the crowd, easily cutting through conversation with the proficiency of any military commander. She briefly entertained the notion that Gunny Charles would be proud of her.

The crowd was staring.

"This is all a misunderstanding," she insisted, gently pulling her arms free. "We were merely talking about labor. I apologize for the mishap and all the panic that I caused."

Ally rushed over. "Really, it's my fault," she said loud enough for everyone to hear. "It came out louder than I meant it to and several people heard incorrectly. It's just a mishap." She nodded firmly. "So, uh, back to the celebration everyone."

Dean scooped Paige up in his arms and walked her back to the bench. She could see his pulse pounding in his neck. She looped her arms around his neck. "Sorry she scared you," she said softly, playing with the hair at the nape of her neck. He set her on her feet and gently nudged her so she'd sit down beside Rachel again.

"If you do, tell me," he said quietly, squeezing her hand. "Promise. Scream if you have to."

"I'll scream your name at the top of my lungs," she promised dutifully.

A spark of mischief entered his eyes. "As loud as you do when we're– "

Paige quickly slapped a hand over his mouth. "Now, Dean," she said quietly. "The town doesn't need to hear about our personal life."

"Even that time when you begged me to–"

"I _did not _beg," she corrected, flushing as Rachel laughed even harder. "You aren't helping," she muttered, shoving her friend's shoulder.

Dean refused to drop the subject, leaning down until their noses were touching. "Oh, yeah, you did."

Paige unleashed her most vicious glare on him. It was impressive, but didn't intimidate him in the least. "Just go away, Dean. We need to talk about girly things."

"Why?"

"Because," she snapped, exasperated. She pushed him away but he only caught her hands and kissed both of her palms. She yanked both of those away too, tucking them under her thighs, irritated over the way he was deliberately turning her brain to mush. "That's what girls do."

His green eyes sparkled with amusement as he gazed down at her. "Sure," he drawled, winking at her and Rachel before sauntering off towards Noah and the barbeque pit.

There was a dance floor set up and activities for the kids, as well as picnic tables with red-and-white checkered tablecloths, and the local country singer Chace Rawlings singing on the stage, his voice drifting over the crowd of partiers and dancers. Some couples were sitting on picnic blankets scattered around the park, while others socialized around the drink stands.

Ally walked over to join them, huffing in embarrassment. "I'm sorry," she said to Paige, palming her face. "I've got to learn to keep this big Italian mouth shut."

Paige patted her shoulder. "It's okay, Al," she dismissed with a wave of her hand, leaning back and watching the party swirling around them. She spotted Noah on the dance floor surrounded by a flock of women. She nudged Rachel. "Sex Machine is at it again."

"Oh, boy," Rachel sighed. "There's Leah, my little sister. She just became a groupie."

"A groupie?" Ally said, looking around. "Who's a groupie?"

"All those girls," Paige said, pointing at Noah and more specifically the eight women standing around him. "Though, they do go willingly, and he's such a dang flirt he obviously doesn't mind the attention." She turned to Ally. "Rachel and I started calling Noah's women groupies a while ago. The longest he's stayed with a woman was for two months."

"What happened?"

"He found out that same woman was sleeping with Michael, too."

"Oh, dear."

"Yeah. We now refer to it as the 'unfortunate incident', because it irritates the both of them. They don't hold it against each other, though, which is probably a good thing because if they did, they'd both be dead."

Ally's eyebrows shot up.

"Okay," Rachel corrected slightly, huffing. "Probably just Michael would be dead. But Noah would be damned close."

They shared a laugh at that.

"When did you start calling him Sex Machine?"

"About three seconds after I met him," Rachel said honestly.

"I was surprised I didn't come up with that one," Paige agreed. "He is at that. Apparently he had quite the conquest record during college, and now especially that he's in the FBI."

"In his defense, they know what they're asking for," Ally said levelly.

"Oh my _god_," she said, blue eyes widening in shock. "Do you have the _hots _for him?" she hissed.

"What?" Ally squawked. "No? Jesus, where did that come from? He's a good guy, I was merely trying to point out he would never force a woman."

Paige and Rachel looked convinced and then had a good laugh at her expense.

"So, did I tell you yet?" Paige said, nudging Ally to get her attention. "I know I already told Rach."

Rachel leaned towards her anyway, knowing what was coming.

"Tell me what?" Ally demanded, one eyebrow arching.

"I picked Jace's godparents," Paige announced with a sly grin. "And you'll never guess who."

"I'll bite. Who?"

"Connie as his godmother. Dean flips out every time I mention it and refuses to even hear her name. Still no idea what this current hate spat is about, but whatever." Her grin widened. "And as a godfather, our very own Sex Machine, Noah Clayborne."

"Oh, God," Ally said, all color draining from her face. "_That's_ going to end well."

Paige and Rachel laughed.

"Doubtful," Rachel said, still chuckling.

"I think it's absolutely perfect. No one on the planet is going to mess with this kid," Paige said, putting a hand on her stomach. "With Connie and Noah as mentors, he'll be a complete terror by the time he grows up."

"Why do you sound happy about that?"

Paige wasn't exactly sure, but she laughed anyway.

* * *

July 5, 2006

Dean was on edge, and he wasn't sure why. He kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. The false alarm at the Fourth of July had scared the hell out of him. This morning, he'd put Paige on the couch and refused to let her move a muscle, and after dinner he'd made her sit right back down. He was terrified that she would fall, and while a part of his mind knew that fear was illogical, the other part overrode with the intense feeling that any injury in her delicate state was absolutely out of the question.

Brody was crying. He finished drying the last plate, shoved it in the cupboard, and hurried into the living room to find Paige sitting up – still on the couch he'd exiled her too – reading a book with Owen and Sammy. He noticed that the baby had his blanket and was sucking his thumb, rubbing his face against it, half-slumped on the ground.

"Tired, little man?" he chuckled, scooping him and the blanket up. "You wanna rock?"

The baby made one of his many noises, thumb still in his mouth. His eyes were bleary. Dean settled in the rocking chair and pushed off the floor, hand on Brody's back to keep him from pitching backwards. Those big blue eyes fixed on him, wide as saucers, and he was struck by how damn beautiful they were. "Come on," he coaxed, pulling him down onto his chest. "Come snuggle with daddy."

Brody seemed to make up his mind that he wanted to, so he collapsed onto his chest, the impact making Dean grunt slightly. He settled his head on Dean's shoulder, hand at his side and relaxed, lulled to sleep by the heat of Dean's chest, the warm fuzziness of the blanket over him, the rocking motion, and Dean's hand rubbing circles on his back.

He watched Paige scoot the boys to the end of the couch, closest to him, the book propped on her stomach while her voice weaved the story of Robin Hood, Prince of Thieves. Sammy and Owen were leaning into her sides, eyes wide, grinning and cheering every now and then. Even Dean allowed himself to be enchanted by the story of the dashing hero.

Paige closed the book at the end of the eighth chapter. "That's all for today," she told them, kissing the top of both of their heads.

"Did he win, mommy?" Owen whispered sleepily. "Did he beat the sheriff?"

"You'll see next time," she said, giving him a little squeeze. "Why don't you go ask daddy if you can watch your movie?"

"But mommy, we can't," Owen whispered, eyes wide.

"How come?"

"Seeping," Sammy offered with a cheeky grin, pointing at the rocking chair.

Paige turned and laughed softly. Dean was sleeping with his arm hanging over the armrest, Brody on his chest with his head tucked under Dean's chin, both of their faces relaxed and peaceful. "He is sleeping, isn't he?" she said, giving them both another little squeeze. "Go pick something out. Mommy will put it in for you."

They did as she asked, quietly arguing over which movie they wanted to watch more.

An ache started in her abdomen, spreading around to her back and gaining intensity for a moment before receding. She realized she'd been holding her breath and let it out slowly, knowing perfectly well what was happening to her.

She was going into labor.

Lovely.

Owen and Sammy really wanted their movie, so she put in Toys Story for them and sat back on the couch with her boys, watching the clock to see when the next contraction would come. It was a long time in coming, almost twenty minutes. She knew there was no point going to the hospital yet, because they'd just make her go home and wait for the contractions to get closer, so she didn't bother waking Dean, preferring to let him sleep. He was going to have a sleepless night ahead of him.

The movie was over almost two hours later, her contractions nineteen minutes apart by her count. Both of the boys were passed out, so she gently eased them to the couch and stood, waking Dean by bending to press her lips to his forehead.

"Mmm," he mumbled, blinking slowly and squinting up at her. His voice was rough when he spoke. "Did I fall asleep?"

She nodded. "Doing my job tuckers you out," she teased as he carefully stood, pausing just long enough to give her an entirely thorough kiss before taking Brody up to bed. He reappeared ten minutes later and did the same for both Owen and Sammy.

Dean sat next to her on the couch, pulling her into his side. "You tired?" he questioned, rubbing his hand up and down her arm.

"No," she replied honestly. She was a little distracted by being in labor and all, but she wasn't going to tell him yet because he'd freak out and drag her to the hospital, where she'd have to wait in an uncomfortable bed for her labor to speed along. She'd _much _rather wait here.

"You're determined, aren't you," he said suddenly, brining her attention back to him. He had his eyes closed but his hand continued its pattern.

"About what?" she wondered, leaning into his side.

"His godmother."

She knew he was talking about Jace. "I am," she admitted. "Connie saved my life more than once, Dean. And yours, too. She's not as crazy as she seems, trust me. There's a strong human heart under all that bravado. If something were to happen to me, I know she would raise him right."

Dean's eyes snapped open. "Nothing is going to happen to you," he said harshly, forcing her to look at him by a hand on the back of her head. Panic swirled in his green eyes, his expression angry at the mere possibility. "You will not die on me."

Paige leaned forward to kiss him. "I'm not going anywhere," she promised, relieved when his grip relaxed.

"His godfather?"

"Noah."

His eyebrow lifted. "You trust that womanizing, tough as nails, mean as a bull, rough and tumble badass with our baby?"

She laughed. "That badass is also sweet, compassionate, protective, intelligent, and gentle," she reminded him. "Sure, I trust him. He's great with the boys."

"That's because he loves them." As soon as he said the words, Dean realized how stupid it sounded. "And he'll love Jace just as much," he added before she could say a word.

"Exactly."

"I'm not happy about this."

"Tough. That's the way it's going to be," she said in a no-nonsense, don't-eff-with-me tone of voice.

Dean didn't argue. There was a knock at the door, and he kissed her on the top of the head before standing up to answer it. She was relieved he left, because a contraction had started right then. She could hear men's voices in the foyer.

"What's up, asshole?" Dean's cheerful voice demanded, drifting easily through the doorway. "Didn't bring me home another stray, did you?"

"Hell, no," Michael's voice replied just as cheerfully. "Just a surly, injured FBI Agent."

That had Paige on her feet. She stood to find Michael and Noah on the porch with Dean leaning against the door. She leaned against the doorway to the living room. "Noah, what did you do _this _time?" she called as the three men entered the house, Dean closing the door behind them. Noah had a noticeable bruise on his chin and a scrape on his forehead, but other than that, seemed completely fine.

Noah glared at Michael and cut him off before he could speak. "I fell," he said matter-of-factly.

She wasn't buying it.

"Onto a fist?" she said sweetly, eyes twinkling with mischief as Noah's eyes narrowed.

"Six of them, actually," Michael corrected. "We were looking for a lost kid up in South Dakota and found her being held hostage by a child slave ring run by three sleazebags. Our boss ordered us to wait for backup. Noah heard the girl scream and was through that door so fast I didn't have time to taze him. He was on those three guys like lightning. Took nine of us to pull him off."

"You took on three men by yourself?" Paige demanded, hands on her hips while she glared up at the towering, defiant, bruised FBI Agent, concealing her pride at his substantial abilities.

"You should see the other guys," Noah muttered, pushing past her to the kitchen. They followed him, watching him get a bag of ice that he slammed down on his shoulder.

"He didn't even have to pull a gun," Michael defended his partner. "Beat them to hell in less than a minute. It was damned impressive. They were begging for mercy by the time we finally got Mr. Temper here under control," he added as he shoved Noah down into a chair.

"There's no excuse for harming a child," Noah growled fiercely, his eyes taking on a feral glint. "None."

Paige looked at Dean, nodding at Noah. "Exactly my point," she said matter-of-factly, laughing when he rolled his eyes and nodded agreement.

"Come one, Mike. Let's go get some beer," Dean said, leading Mike into the garage.

Noah sat facing her. "I'm fine," he said grumpily.

"I know you are," she said gently, sitting in his lap to get a closer look at the scrapes on his forehead. They were deeper than she'd thought. She grabbed the medical kit from the kitchen counter and sat back down in his lap, ignoring his irritated sigh when she started to dab alcohol on his scrapes.

"Ouch," he snarled when she dabbed a deep one.

"Quite squirming," she demanded. She dabbed it again, and he pulled his head backwards out of her reach.

"Ow! Quit pinching me," he complained when she dragged his head forward again.

"Well, quit squirming."

He grunted when she taped a little piece of gauze over the cuts. "There," she said, kissing his cheek. "All better."

Noah smiled. "You take this mama bear thing a little far," he said teasingly. "Had any nightmares lately?"

"Nope," she replied honestly as she re-packed her medical kit and put it back on the counter. "I've been sleeping like a baby. Dean's been home most of the time, and some nights I barely sleep at all because I'm so uncomfortable."

She was moving about the kitchen now, getting him a bigger ice bag and a glass of water with a couple of ibuprofen. He downed it in less than a minute and didn't protest while she adjusted his shirt, set the ice pack, and wrapped his shoulder with an ace bandage to keep the ice from sliding off. The cold brought instant relief to his sore joint.

"Thanks," he said gratefully, sipping the second glass of water she'd handed him while he watched her gather up all the used supplies and toss them in the trash. She suddenly drew in a sharp breath, leaned against the counter, and went completely still for thirty seconds.

When she lifted her eyes again, he was tense, his blue eyes boring into her as he watched her every move. His booted feet hit the ground as he lowered them from the chair, and before she could move away, he snagged her by the waist band and pulled her down into his lap again.

"What was that?" he demanded harshly, twisting and turning her this way and that, unable to find any outward injuries.

"Nothing."

"That wasn't 'nothing', Squirt."

"Don't call me Squirt."

His gaze bored into hers as he leaned over her, taking full advantage of his greater height, even sitting down, his hands on her waist preventing her from trying to escape. "Answer me," he demanded.

Paige huffed in annoyance, glaring up at him. "I hate profilers," she muttered, crossing her arms. "It was just a tiny contraction."

Noah just about lost his mind. "A tiny..." he said in a roar, so infuriated he couldn't even finish his own sentence. "How long?"

"They're a little under twenty minutes apart," she said honestly, not even bothering to lie. She grabbed his chin. "You listen to me, mister. It's going to be a long time yet, and it's damned uncomfortable in those beds. When they get to ten minutes apart, or if my water breaks, I'll tell Dean, and not a minute before."

He could see the clear determination in her eyes. "Okay," he relented. "But I'm not taking my eye off of you." He transferred her off of his lap to the chair beside him, eyes frequently glancing at her stomach.

"How did your case go?" Paige asked to distract him.

"Good. We caught them. Found eleven missing kids between the ages of four and seven. The rest were dead," he said bluntly. "You'll see the new story in the morning. We saved those eleven, and that's the thing to remember." His face softened. "This one ended better than they usually do."

"I'm glad."

"Me, too. Those kids are going to be pretty messed up, but… at least now they have a chance. If we hadn't found them when we did…" he trailed off, cold fury flashing through him. "They were auctioning them off like cattle. I heard that girl scream after they announced they were loading them in the trucks to deliver, and I just snapped. Daniels isn't happy with me, but I don't care. I wasn't going to wait another damn second to help her."

"Daniels is your boss?" she guessed.

Noah nodded. "Supervisory Special Agent Corey T. Daniels," he confirmed. "There are six on our team in all, and one technical analyst who handles all the terrain and location, pulls up bank records, that type of stuff. Daniels is the leader, and then there's me, Mike, Rachel Bernard, Cade Riley, Andrew MacKenzie – we call him Drew – and our TA is a gal named Sasha Broadhead."

"Corey getting bossier?"

"Nah. He's just pissed at me for breaking protocol." He shrugged arrogantly. "He's only jealous because he can't do it and get away with it. I can tell by looking at his face he wanted to do exactly what I did."

"Won't the director get angry at you? Sounds like she hates yours and Michael's guts."

"Oh, she can get angry all she likes. Not a damn thing she can do, though, not with the connections the both of us have. Director Shepherd is just looking to climb to the top of the ladder. Michael and I could end her with one phone call, and she knows it. She spends half her time trying to discreetly control us."

"Sounds like you're a hellion to supervise," she observed.

"Damn straight. I'm a rebel."

He sounded awful proud of himself, especially because they both knew it was true. He never had been one to obey. "Oh, believe me, Noah, I knew that already." Paige laughed. "You never were one to follow the rules. Neither were Chris or Michael, which is probably why you were the Three Musketeers growing up."

Noah grinned and planted a kiss on the top of her head. "Love you too, squirt," he said cheerfully.

The minutes dragged into hours. They stayed up all night talking, Noah refusing to sleep because he knew what was happening to Paige, and Michael because he was to revved up. Dean had slept for three hours, so he wasn't tired in the least.

At midnight, however, her contractions were becoming harder and harder to hide, and were about ten minutes apart. She reached under the table, grabbed Dean's hand, and squeezed.

Dean froze, his eyes watching a pained expression flash across her face.

"That was a big one," she announced, squeezing his hand harder until it receded. "Honey, I think it's time to go to the hospital now."

Dean shot out of his chair so fast it turned over. He grabbed the diaper bag and slung it over his shoulder, reaching out to help support her, strangely calm on the outside but utterly panicking on the inside.

"I'll stay with the boys," Michael said, waving his hand. "Noah, drive them. I'll come see him when he's born."

"Call Connie if you want to be there," she called over her shoulder as Dean gently lifted her into the car and sat beside her, hand soothingly rubbing her back as Noah raced along to the hospital. The roads were empty, so there was no need to roll code.

The emergency room was busier than usual, but one of the nurses spotted them coming through the doors and rushed over.

"Is it time?" she asked, wheelchair already in front of her.

"It's time," Paige confirmed, sitting in it thankfully, not arguing when the nurse rushed her off to the neonatal wing. By the end of the hour she was hooked up to all the machines and lying in a hospital bed with Dean at her bedside, holding her hand tightly in his.

The next four hours were a flurry of nurses and doctors, checking up on her vitals and the baby's vitals while Dean panicked. The baby wasn't turning, so the nurses had to do it for her, a pain so intense that it made her scream. He cursed himself because she was in pain and there was nothing he could do to help. He cursed himself for getting her pregnant, and then cursed her for letting him get her pregnant in the first place.

Paige ignored his self-loathing. This labor was much faster than the last time, especially now that she was fully dilated to ten centimeters. Before she knew it, Amy was there and announcing it was time to push. The room was packed with people – a NICU team just in case Jace was in trouble, Amy, two nurses, Dean, and Ally – that she was currently ignoring, seeing as she was in a boatload of pain.

"Come on, baby, you can do it," Dean was chanting in her ear, both of his hands being squeezed to death by hers, and at exactly five fifteen in the morning, their baby boy was born.

Jace bellowed his discomfort for the world to hear while they cleared his passages, Amy holding him up for his parents to see, gently settling the squalling baby on Paige's chest. He was healthy at first glance – no unhealthy baby could scream like that.

Dean had tears streaking down his face, reaching up with a shaky hand to touch the baby's head. He was bright red and wrinkly, but he had ten fingers and ten toes, and that was all that mattered to him. Paige's face was streaked with tears, but she was smiling brightly, all pain forgotten. Dean cut his umbilical cord, and the NICU team weighed him and ran a battery of tests on him to test his heart, deeming him perfectly healthy.

Dean sat on the bed and pulled his wife into his arms while the nurses cleaned up Jace. He couldn't stop kissing her for the life of him, and in that moment he was so filled with joy he felt like he was going to burst. It felt surreal.

Amy lowered the baby into Paige's arms, told them congratulations, and went out to announce to the family gathered in the waiting room that all went well and the boy was perfectly healthy.

Paige kissed Jace's warm forehead, simply awed by his brand-new presence. His eyes were tightly shut, his tiny hand beside his face, the blue hat askew on his head. "Hey there, sweet baby," she whispered, smiling when his eyes opened but didn't focus on anything. They were a deep, dark blue. His weight was comfortable against her chest.

Dean settled next to her, his arm around her waist, one hand resting on Jace. She looked up at her husband and noticed his tears, pulling him down with one arm to kiss him again. "Here, take him."

Dean did, lifting the baby's tiny form into his arms and cradling him gently, one finger tracing down his soft cheek. "Jace Bradley Winchester," he said in an awestruck voice. "Welcome to the world, little guy."

He was eight pounds, two ounces, as bright red as the sunrise, and his new baby skin was wrinkled like a one hundred year old man's – but in Dean's mind, he was perfect.

xxx

Hours later, Paige was asleep in her hospital bed, propped up on pillows and exhausted from the birth and flood of well-wishing family members. Dean was sitting at her bedside, Jace cradled in his arms while he watched him sleep.

"I'll always protect you, little guy," he whispered, unable to resist trailing his finger down that tiny cheek. "You've got three big brothers who will love you to pieces, too. And we built you a nice big nursery. You're going to love it, I promise." He chuckled softly. "Your godmother is a little crazy, but your godfather is pretty cool. You'll love them, too. If I could, I'd give you the world. I love you so much."

The baby didn't even stir, just continued to sleep peacefully.

"You're mommy is one amazing woman, you know," he continued to whisper, brushing his lips over his son's forehead. "She kept you safe. But you know what you are, my precious baby boy? You're a fighter. Just like me and your mommy."

Jace stirred slightly at that, his little head turning to the side. There was a dusting of soft brown hair over his head.

"You're named after some pretty amazing people, too, Jace." He nuzzled his baby's cheek as he spoke the words. "Now, my dad, he's a bit of an ass. But he's okay, I guess. Jared is pretty awesome, you're going to love him. And your great-grandpa John is going to love you to bits, I can already tell." He watched those eyes stare up at him, unfocused, their color and deep blue. "Allyson, now, she's a firecracker. She's got that crazy Italian temper, you know, and she's a little insane, but we all love her. Your Uncle Chris was one amazing guy, and if he were here, he'd be so proud of you. If it wasn't for him, I wouldn't be sitting here holding you." He smiled down at his baby, marveling over his little hand wrapping around his finger, the grip amazingly tight. "Elliot, he's what the E stands for. He's grumpy sometimes, but the town calls him Hotstuff, probably because he used to be a bit of a ladies' man before he met his wife Lisa. He's the town sheriff and flies helicopters. He rescued your mommy from a bad man, and saved your life doing it."

The baby blinked and yawned hugely.

"Yeah, I know. Life is hard out here. But you know, what, Jace? We'll always be there for you. Always." He kissed his son's forehead again. "You don't let anyone tell you you've got some big shoes to fill. You'll make your own destiny, and I'll be proud of you no matter what."

"Are you corrupting him already?" Paige murmured softly, watching him with their newborn son.

"A little," he admitted, setting the baby on the bed beside her, stretching out on the bed and nestling their son between them. He reached over to stroke her forehead. "I love you so much," he whispered, leaning across the space to kiss her tenderly. He looked down at Jace.

Paige noticed how long his eyelashes were when he looked down, and how soft and gentle his face was as he gazed at Jace. She reached out to stroke his cheek. "I love you, too, Dean," she whispered with a soft smile, her eyes also resting on their newborn son. "My wish came true."

Dean glanced up at her, confusion marring his brow. He didn't ask for an explanation, knowing he would know when it came to him. He watched her slowly drift to sleep, trying to understand her last statement. He let it go, and drifted off to sleep with them.

* * *

**E/N**: So, there it is... little Jace is here. :)

**REVIEWS=LOVE**  
And I adore all who give them.


	35. Chapter 35

A/N: Sorry for the long wait. My laptop decided to Blue Screen of Death on me… stupid Microsoft… those of you Microsoft users, hope you never experience it as it's a pain in the arse. Anyway, it took me a while to transfer everything I managed to save to my main computer. Thanks for the patience, guys!

I figure I've got about 2-4 chapters to go… just about under the wire. Hang in there, everyone! I had a moment of indecision… Connie's story was a hard one to straighten out, lots of nooks and crannies… listening to the Tron soundtrack and Two Steps From Hell helped. I'm hopelessly addicted. X.x

My loyal reviewers – I love you to pieces. You are my inspiration, and I adore you all. I am so thankful to everyone for sticking with me and supporting me this long. You ROCK!

Disclaimer: Don't own a thing, except for my OCs.

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Five  
**More Questions than Answers

**Thunder Creek, WY  
**July 6, 2006

Jace was up twice that night to be nursed, jarring both of his parents from a sound sleep. Paige would nurse him, burp him, and then put him back to sleep, settling him into the incubator so that her and Dean had room in the bed without having to worry about squishing him.

Morning dawned to one fully rested newborn and two mostly rested parents. They were being discharged this afternoon, but the NICU team wanted to do more tests on him before they let him go for good.

They were rolling Jace out the door when Noah came in, looking haggard but happy for them, five o'clock shadow making him appear a little scruffy. "Hey," he greeted them, hugging Dean and bending to peck Paige on the cheek. "Congratulations on the baby. He's beautiful."

"You haven't even seen him yet," Dean pointed out with a grin, lightly punching his arm.

"They were rolling him past me when I came up," he explained, pointing over his shoulder. "More tests?"

"Just to be sure," Paige said, smoothing the blankets over her lap and smiling at the pair of them.

"How do you feel, babycakes?" Noah asked, sitting in a chair and folding his arms over his chest.

Paige rolled her eyes. "I just gave birth, moron," she said with a laugh, "how do you _think _I feel? And for the love of God, quit calling me that."

Noah smiled cheekily and winked at her. "There's that attitude," he teased. "Seriously, though. I'm happy for you."

"I should hope so," she retorted, braiding her hair over her shoulder while she spoke. "There was a question that Dean and I meant to ask you yesterday, but never got around to it."

"Oh?" Noah's left eyebrow lifted, one corner of his lips tilting upward.

"Noah, would you be Jace's godfather?"

Noah blinked, his smile fading as he stared at them, waiting for one of them to start laughing. Neither did – they were staring at him, eyes earnest, waiting for his answer. "You want me to…to be his godfather?" he said, incredulous.

Paige and Dean slowly nodded.

"I… well… I'm honored," he stammered, a huge grin spreading across his face. "Sure, I'll be his godfather."

Paige was so pleased, she motioned him over and hugged him. Dean shook his hand, finally relaxing.

"There's one thing you should know, though," Dean said hesitantly.

"Oh, yeah? What?"

"His godmother is… uh… well…"

"Me," Connie brightly announced from her spot in the doorway. She could barely be seen over the gigantic teddy bear she held in her arms. "Hey, Paige. Katie said that a teddy bear is something you buy a new baby, so I did. I hope it's not too big."

Paige forced herself not to laugh – the dang thing was _at least _four feet tall. But it was a nice gesture from someone who usually didn't care, so she held her silence.

Connie sat in the chair on the opposite side of the bed from Noah and Dean, who were both glaring at her with red faces, mouths moving soundlessly as they tried to force words past the fury blocking their throats.

"Can you give the two of us a minute?" she asked sweetly, shooing them and hoping they wouldn't argue but knowing full well that they would.

Noah shot to his feet, fists clenched, all six feet eight inches of rippling muscles and raging fury. "Like hell am I going to leave her alone with you," he said in a roar, "you miserable, lying, cutthroat–"

"Demon?"

Connie seemed immensely bored as she studied her fingernails nonchalantly, not bothering to even look up at the furious, red-faced giant. "Yes, I know that already," she added with a perfectly punctuated yawn. "Anything else? No? Good, because it's important. Now get."

"What could possibly be so important that–"

"Demons," Connie interrupted harshly, eyes fixed on the bedspread.

Utter silence followed that declaration. Noah slowly lowered into the chair he'd recently vacated, mouth moving soundlessly before he finally snapped it shut, while Dean looked like he'd just been told he had three heads.

"Dean, I know you want to stay. But this is something that I need to talk to her about in private. She'll tell you everything anyway, I know, but I just… I _can't_ tell her with you sitting right there glowering at me. Same for you, Clayborne."

Despite his anger, Dean understood. He leaned across his wife's bed until his lips were at her ear and said something in a voice so low not even Connie could hear. As soon as Paige nodded, he forced Noah ahead of him, shut the door, and leaned against the wall at the perfect angle to be able to see them talking through the window in the door.

Dean's keen eyes searched for any sign of threats, discomfort, anger, anything. Paige sat there staring at Connie, expressions flying across her face (she never could hide them all that well, at least not from him), occasionally nodding or responding in turn to whatever Connie was telling her. He couldn't see Connie's face, so he couldn't lip read, but knew Paige wasn't really talking, just pressing her to expand on whatever she was saying.

"I don't trust her," Noah announced suddenly.

He snorted. Noah, ever the bull in the china shop, had made it perfectly clear that he was diplomatic with no one, least of all Connie. "Paige trusts her," he reminded the surly FBI Agent.

"I don't give a shit if Paige trusts her. I don't."

"Are you saying my wife has no judge of character?" Dean demanded, one eyebrow arching.

Noah immediately balked. "No, of course not," he said quickly. "I just… I don't…"

"Trust her," he finished for him, rolling his eyes. "I don't either, Noah. But Paige does. And she's known Connie a hell of a lot longer than she's known me. As much as it kills me to admit it, Paige is a hunter, too. She has the same instincts as you and me, and if her instincts tell her that Connie is okay, then I'm not going to argue with that." He paused. "However, _my _instincts are telling me that there's something off about her. So, I let my wife trust her while I hang back skeptically."

Noah grunted but didn't say anything.

Paige looked shocked, face going pale, reaching out to put her hand on Connie's shoulder. Connie bowed her head, her shoulders shaking violently. His wife now looked stricken and actually leaned forward to hug her friend. When she pulled away, Connie stood and shook Paige's hand before saying something that made Paige smile.

Dean fidgeted while he watched Connie stand and bend down to hug Paige. She turned, smiling at him and waving her hand in farewell. He couldn't help but notice that her eyes were red-rimmed and her eyes filled with an echoing sadness.

And then, she was gone.

He blinked, still not quite sure exactly how she _did _that. Paige looked upset, but as soon as he opened the door, her expression smoothed over and she smiled at him.

Dean didn't buy it for one measly second. "Is everything okay?" he asked softly, sitting at the side of her bed, reaching up to brush her hair behind her ear.

"Not really," she sighed, dropping the façade and staring down at her hands. "Connie is having some… family problems."

"Which family?" _The human one, or the demon one?_ he silently added.

"Demon."

He'd figured as much. "Do you want to talk about it?" he coaxed, reaching out to squeeze her hand.

She smiled softly and squeezed his hand in return. "Not really," she said honestly.

"Her demon family not the greatest, then?" he joked.

"You don't know the half of it. You don't want to, trust me. It's…complicated." She rubbed her eyes and sighed, wishing they'd hurry up and bring her baby back already. "Where's Noah?"

"He went to get himself some coffee," Dean explained. "The doctors are releasing you today, and hopefully, Jace too."

Paige was glad he'd let the subject drop. "We won't be seeing Connie for a while," she told him absently, staring off into space. "Maybe never again."

"What do you mean?" Dean's eyes were wide. Sure, she wasn't his favorite person in the world (quite the opposite, really) but it's not like he wanted her dead…well. Not _completely_ dead, anyway,

"She doesn't want to put us in danger."

"From who?"

Paige sighed wearily and tossed her covers back. "Her 'father' and basically all of Hell," she admitted as he gently forced her to lie back down and pulled the blankets back up to her waist. She hadn't been officially released yet.

"So no godmother position then?" he asked.

She smiled. "Not officially, at least not for a while," she said with a smile. "Looks like you lucked out."

"I'm surprised that she cares," he said quietly, leaning his elbows on his knees.

"She does, Dean," Paige said flatly. "And considering all she's been through and continues to go through every day, that's a damn miracle."

"Okay, that's it," Dean said calmly, pinning her to the bed by her shoulders when she tried to sit up. He leaned down until their noses brushed, his narrowed eyes boring into hers. "Start talking. And start at the beginning. Why is she like the way she is? Why does she act the way she does, say the things she does? And why, for the love of God, does she act like she doesn't have a heart half the time?"

"Because most of her heart died with her son," Paige shot back angrily, tears welling in her flashing blue eyes. She looked horrified by her slip but her anger didn't diminish one bit.

Dean sat up suddenly, eyes going wide. "Son?" he repeated blankly. "She…she had a son?" He shook himself. "Start at the beginning. Please."

Paige nodded. Agony ripped through her at the memory of the boy's sunny smile. "You can't tell anyone," she said sternly, waiting for him to not before continuing. "Connie's a year, almost two, older than me. I've known her since she was eleven. Her dad, Bill, asked if she could come stay with us that first summer. Bill's a hunter, too," she added for his benefit. He didn't bother to tell her he knew that already. "He knew how hard my grandfathers worked to purify this valley from all things supernatural. And so she stayed the summer with us, every summer, and in those four months she was free of demons who constantly hunted her.

"Connie is special – as in there's no one else alive like her, that we know about anyway. She's unique. Hell wants to control her. She's powerful, Dean, more powerful than you could possibly imagine. But she doesn't let that power consume her. It's almost like she's two different people: human and demon. The two sides constantly war with each other. The human side almost always wins… but if she lets her concentration slip, even for a moment, that demon can break free, and the consequences of that would be drastic. She's resisted Hell, and her demonic half, for her entire life. It's a constant, never-ending battle. But she fights, steadfast, because she fears what will happen if that evil consumes her. She fears for all those innocent lives that would be lost. It's her human conscience, Dean, that is her saving grace."

Dean nodded, waiting for her to continue, carefully studying her face while she gathered her thoughts. This next part was going to be bad, he could already tell, for she was steeling herself against pain. He knew that expression by heart.

"When she was here, the demon inside her was dormant," Paige continued, clearing her throat several times. "She could be human here, and she loved that, loved being able to let all her guards down and give herself a breather. Our home she jokingly refers to as her second favorite place on earth, the first being the home she grew up in. In 2000, to the shock of all that knew her closely, she started to fall in love with a hunter who passed through town every now and again. His name was Luke Fraser. He was the tall, dark, handsome, and mysterious type, but he turned out to be a truly good man. He came from a family of hunters, like us, was raised in it. He was a bit of a loner, but then, so was she. They just…clicked." She paused, struggling to get her raging emotions in check. "They were married that summer, in our church in Town Square. Nobody really knew who they were, only that they were friends of us. So the whole damn town showed up, offering help to them both, giving their advice for hunts, inviting them to come through whenever they liked and opening their homes to both Connie and Luke."

He squeezed her hand reassuringly when she suddenly choked on the words, squeezing her eyes tightly shut as if trying to force her brain to remember. "Connie came to me three months later and told me she was pregnant. I was ecstatic for her. She was young, but she was so excited to be mom, and Luke couldn't wait to be a dad. Their baby boy was born that winter. They named him Brennan Lucas Fraser, in honor of Connie's maiden name." She took a deep breath, squeezing her eyes shut even tighter. "Luke built them a cabin in Montana, isolated in the wilderness. They came to visit often, and left Brennan with us a lot too, while they went off on hunts together. When Brennan was ten months old, Connie came down here to get some information from my dad." Her shoulders started shaking, the lump in her throat lodging it so that speech was impossible. But she had to get this out, she had to make Dean understand. "While she was gone, demons found the cabin. They…they…" she choked on the words.

"Oh, honey," Dean soothed, pulling her into his arms and squeezing her tight.

"They killed Luke and Brennan," she said into his shirt. "He was ten months old, Dean. Not even a year." The tears were rolling down her cheeks now. "Connie went crazy. She almost killed herself several times hunting down the bastards that did it. I know she was trying to die, but a part of her was too stubborn to give in. After she tracked down all but one, she vanished." She lifted her head to smile at him. "And then I met you."

"And the rest was history," he finished for her. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Connie is who she is, Dean. You never asked, so I never told."

"Not that I'm not happy we talked about it, but can we talk about something happier?"

"Like bringing our baby home," she agreed, resting her head on his shoulder. "I wonder if Owen has driven Ally nuts yet."

Dean laughed. He was still laughing when Noah entered with three cups of coffee, the nurses with a perfectly healthy Jace just a few steps behind him.

* * *

Sam was completely baffled.

Markers. His nephew had burst into tears over _markers_.

"Sammy," he said in a no-nonsense voice. "We're coloring with crayons. Markers are too messy." Not to mention Ally would kill him if the kids made a mess with markers all over the brand new carpet of their brand new, just-finished-being-decorated house.

"Want marka!" Sammy wailed, pounding his fists into the carpet.

Sam looked to Owen, who just rolled his eyes and continued scribbling in his horse coloring book, the bucket of crayons beside his elbow. Levi was cheerfully scrawling ineligible things all over a blank piece of paper, a blue crayon upside down in his pudgy grasp. Brody was playing with the Fisher Price music table, standing upright on sturdy legs, cheerfully smacking random items to make them play music and babbling in a baby voice. He sighed heavily and slumped his head onto the carpet, feeling a headache coming on as Sammy's crying only increased in volume.

He knew his brother. Every movement, every snarky retort he'd used over the years. He knew the way his voice got gravelly when he was passionate about something, how his eyes lit up when he smiled, and how he communicated in nothing but grunts and glares after he first woke up. Everything about Dean (well, mostly everything) he'd discovered years ago, had no trouble with because up until he left for college he'd never really been ten feet away from the guy.

Now, Dean's son was a completely different story. Sammy was a lot like Dean – he could see his brother clearly in everything the boy did. But he'd never known a young Dean, because he hadn't been born yet. Dean had raised him, not the other way around, so he was feeling a little lost. How does one deal with a two-year-old throwing a temper tantrum?

Sammy's tears had ceased abruptly. Apparently, ignoring him had done the trick. Sam's headache faded.

"You're such a baby," Owen grumbled, pushing the crayon box closer to his two-year-old brother. He returned to coloring his picture of a paint horse he was making the colors of Patch.

Sammy threw a crayon at him, sniffing and wiping his face while he scribbled his paper, temper-tantrum forgotten.

"Uncle Sam, can I ask you something?"

"Sure, buddy," Sam replied, lifting his head to look at Owen, the only kid he could currently have intelligent conversation with. "What's up?"

"Let me get this straight. Is this baby in, or out?" Owen asked, setting his crayon down and resting his chin in his hands.

Sam laughed outright, startled by Owen's forward attitude. "He was born early this morning," he managed to explain, face going red as he forced himself to not laugh.

"How come we aren't there?"

"They're bringing Jace home today. I'm driving us to the hospital to pick them up, so you'll get to see him then."

"Oh."

Sam looked up when the phone rang. "Stay here, I'll be right back," he ordered, jumping up to answer it. He scooped it off the hook, tripped over the last unpacked box, and landed in a kitchen chair. "Hello?"

"_Hey, Sam,"_ Ally's voice cheerfully replied. _"They just gave Jace a clean bill of health. Can you come get us?"_

"Sure." He covered the mouthpiece. "Boys, time to go!" he called.

"_Nobody died then, I take it?"_

"Michael got called in, emergency with someone in his FBI group, apparently something happened. Levi wasn't happy to have so many kids invading his new space," he explained. "Sammy cried for about an hour last night, he didn't want to go back to bed without Dean or Paige as soon as he figured out he wasn't at home anymore. Good thing I could get a hold of Dean on the phone, otherwise he wouldn't have gone to sleep. Owen was fine… Brody just slept in the port-a-crib, he didn't seem to care." He rubbed his eyes as someone started crying in the other room. "They've been good all morning, for the most part. We had a minor marker meltdown and they hated the Eggo waffles I made for breakfast, but it was the best that I could do, so…"

"_You did good, Sam. You must have the patience of a saint_," Ally praised him, amusement lacing her tone. _"It was good practice. Our house will be like that soon."_

Sam gulped at the thought. And with _twins_, no less. "See you soon," he promised, and disconnected the call. He hurried into the living room, to find Sammy holding up Brody and walking with him while the one-year-old loudly screamed in protest, squirming while Owen was trying to pull Levi off the arm of the couch before he fell.

He plucked Levi up by the seat of his pants and set him on his feet, patting Owen's head. "Sammy, leave Brody alone," he scolded, removing Sammy's arms from the one-year-old's chest and lifting Brody to his hip. "Come on, boys, in the car we go." He plucked Brody's favorite blanket from the port-a-crib and ushered the boys out the door, juggling Brody and the diaper bag while he attempted to keep Levi and Sammy from pushing each other down the porch steps and Owen from beating on both of them.

Brody was easy to get situated, and he buckled him in quickly, ignoring his cries of protest (he currently hated his car seat) and dropping the blanket over the one-year-old's legs, turning to let Owen into the back, waiting for the five-year-old to buckle before he turned to the two-year-olds, who were running across the lawn towards the neighbors, who were watching with amused smiles.

"Sammy, Levi, let's go," he called in frustration, hurrying over when Levi picked up a handful of dirt to throw at Sammy. He grabbed his boy's fist and forced the dirt out of it, brushing his hand clean and picking him up like a football, tucking him under his arm. Sammy's shirt was half-off, so he pulled it off entirely and slung it over his shoulder, picking up Sammy in the same fashion and heading back for the car. He put Levi up on the seat while he forced the shirt back on Sammy, brushed him off, lifted him to his car seat, and buckled him in before he could squirm out, clicking the seat into place. He slammed the door shut with a bit more force than necessary and walked to the driver's side passenger door, buckling Levi into _his_ car seat.

Levi grinned up at him. "Car wide?"

"Yeah, buddy. We're going on a quick car ride."

"Cool."

Sam dropped a kiss on the top of his head and closed the door, hopping up into the driver's seat and starting the ignition. The boys bickered the entire way and he didn't even attempt to control them. It was futile anyway.

By the time they pulled into the hospital parking garage, the boys were quiet, excited to meet their new baby brother while Levi quietly played with the ears of his stuffed dog. He unbuckled them all, instructed them to hold hands, and _somehow_ – he wasn't quite sure how, exactly – got them into the elevator in one piece, Levi's hand firmly in his, Levi's in Owen's, with Sammy on the outside being held onto tightly by Owen. Brody was perched on his hip.

"Oh my," an elderly old woman whispered to who was obviously her daughter. "That poor woman."

Sam glanced over at her. "Third floor, please," he said politely, pulling the boys close to him. Owen was staring up at the woman, head cocked to one side, while Sammy and Levi just stared.

"Has his wife flat on her back, poor thing," the woman whispered to the elderly woman.

Rage flared in Sam that he quickly squashed down. He subtly shifted to the other side of the elevator as it opened on the second floor to admit a haggard and very tired looking Elliot in full uniform, hat tucked under his arm.

"Hey," he greeted them, bending to scoop up a delighted Sammy. "Keeping the circus in line?"

"Sure am," Sam agreed, shifting Brody to the other hip and ignoring the two women.

"Paige and Dean sure appreciate it," the police officer commented, poking Sammy in his sensitive tummy. "That house is going to be busy, with these three munchkins and the new baby, too."

Sam agreed with him, ruffling Levi's hair, running his fingers through the two-year-old's thick, silky locks. He shot the two women an annoyed look, slightly happy when they had the presence of mind to look ashamed.

Owen tugged on Elliot's pant leg until the man looked down. He leaned into Elliot's leg, eyes wide as he glanced back at the two women. "Uncle Elliot, what's it mean when a lady's flat on her back?" he stage-whispered.

Elliot was so shocked he almost dropped Sammy. "I – I don't – I – _who_ told you that?" he spluttered furiously.

He pointed at the two ladies. "They said mommy's flat on her back," he explained. "But she's not, Uncle Elliot. She walks 'round and stuff."

"Just ignore people that say stuff like that, bud," he advised, ruffling Owen's hair as the elevator pinged open, doors sliding away to reveal the stark hallway bustling with harassed-looking nurses. "Ladies, good day."

Sam snorted when the door shut again. "Honestly, some people…" he muttered, trailing off as he scanned the room numbers. "Which is theirs again?"

"Here," Elliot said, pointing. He bounced Sammy a little, smiling down and ruffling his soft blond locks. "Ready to see your brother, buddy?"

Sammy nodded excitedly, green eyes bright with excitement. Elliot threw open the door, and there was the usual clan: Brad and Debbie, perched in chairs off to one side, Gunnar, Lilly and Garrett sitting haphazardly on their laps, excited grins on their faces. Ally had a camera in her hands, as usual, and was snapping photographs like a demented person, huge grin on her face. Noah, sprawled over two chairs on the other side of the room, looking very much like a contented relaxed male lion deceptively calm but ready to leap into action at any moment, and on the bed, Paige holding a blanket-swathed tiny shape, Dean's chin resting on her shoulder.

Sam set Brody on the bed, stepping back to watch as the boys clambered up around their parents, curious faces peering down at the new addition.

"Boys, this is Jace," Dean said, brushing his hand over the baby's head. "Your new baby brother."

Owen started giggling. "He looks funny, like he's old. How come he's so _wrinkly_?"

Everyone in the room grinned.

* * *

The lives of the Winchesters had just gotten a hell of a lot more hectic.

Brad watched, amused, as the children–his grandchildren, nieces, nephews, and other familial relations he didn't care to name who were haphazardly shoved into the category "cousin"–played in the back yard, tripping all over each other in their squirt gun fight. It had turned into a full-scale battle plan as soon as the majority of the men had also involved themselves, rolling around in the dirt and the mud same as the kids, them being giant kids themselves.

His eyes were especially attracted to John Bradley, namesake of his father (John Bradley had skipped over him; for whatever reason, his parents had called him Bradley Keith instead, probably why Christopher hadn't been a John Bradley, either), as he chased after Owen and Gunner, who had just blasted him full in the face.

"Hey, daddy."

Brad glanced over and smiled at his eldest daughter. "Hey, baby," he replied, scooting over to make room for her on the swing. His eyes gentled at the sight of his newborn grandson. "And hey, baby."

Paige laughed and shook her head. "You are such a dork," she commented, leaning back with a contented sigh. The party was in full-swing, more a town-wide barbeque at this point, but then most functions at her house were, for any reason. Nowadays they just made up reasons to get together.

"Can I hold him?"

"Of course," said Paige, gently easing her newborn son into her father's arms. "He's a dream already. Sleeps through the night, hardly cries at all… then again, he's barely three days old, so I shouldn't get my hopes up."

"Hmm, no, I think that's a good observation. You screamed like a banshee, colic and all that, and so did Chris, Gunner, and Garret. Lily and Claire were quiet, like this little guy," said Brad, thumb brushing over the baby's soft skin.

A screaming cry broke over the noises of laughter. Paige excused herself and hurriedly rushed down the steps, in search of her one-year-old. She'd know that cry anywhere. "Brody, baby, come here," she called, rounding the corner to see him flat on his back in the dirt, hands over his eyes, Owen crouched over him with distress written all over his face. She knew immediately what had happened, running over to him and carefully picking him up.

"I'm sorry!" Owen cried helplessly, water-gun forgotten, worried face tipped upwards. "I didn't mean to, mama, honest! He came around the corner and got between me and Gunner, and it hit him in the face, but I wasn't aiming for him I swear!"

"Brody, honey, let me see," she soothed, gently pulling Brody's hands down. His eyes were a little bloodshot, but that was all. "There. No blood." She smiled down at him and pressed her lips to his forehead. "Mommy kissed it and made it better."

Brody sniffed, tears forgotten. He squirmed, so she put him down.

"I'm sorry, Brody," Owen said honestly, grabbing his hand. "Come on. Let's go play with trucks."

Paige smiled and watched them walk away. Owen was already becoming as protective as Dean.

_That kid has got damn good aim._

She nearly jumped out of her skin, hand flying to her heart. Dread and elation filled her in unison, making her feel strangely lightheaded. That was most certainly _not _a spoken statement. He'd been silent for so long…

_Sorry, baby cakes. I was quiet as long as I could be. _She turned to look at her dad and Jace, eyes stinging with unshed tears. _I'm proud of you, you know._

_Chris…why do you keep doing this?_

Pause. _Do you not want me to?_

_I don't know. I don't know if you're even real._

_One day, baby girl, I'll explain. Soon._

Paige smiled up at her dad and accepted her infant back, cradling him and tucking the blankets soundly around him, until his little face peeked out of one of the folds. She sat back on the swing, pushing off the ground so it would rock, and if she half-closed her eyes, she could almost see her brother sitting beside her, hair blowing slightly in the breeze, his huge grin firmly in place.

_He's beautiful, baby girl._

She squeezed her eyes tightly shut as a tear slipped free, wishing beyond anything else that he really could be sitting there beside her, rocking gently on the swing, while their children played together in the warm sunshine.

* * *

Sam moved silently through the house, weaving through the well-wishers who had converged on the house to congratulate Dean and Paige on the birth of their new son. The people mingled in groups, sprawled all over the furniture, chatting while the children darted excitedly amongst them, voices raised in laughter.

He was searching for the bathroom, having been sworn off going upstairs. According to Paige, all the little ones were taking their naps up there, and to wake them was to incur the wrath of heaven. So, as he liked being alive, he avoided the upstairs at all costs.

There was a bathroom around her somewhere, he knew. All he had to do was find it.

The corridor was deserted, the majority of people gathered in the kitchen and living room or outside, basking in the summer sunshine, sipping iced tea and lemonade. He relished in the sudden quiet, the conversations muffled. He began to randomly open doors and peek inside. Art room, some type of planning room, workout room, some type of formal dining room attached to the kitchen…

He was nearing the end of the hall when he stepped through a regal, wide archway into an enormous, two-story-tall library, shelves stretching nearly to the ceiling, a giant fireplace facing him with cushy chairs fashioned around it. The windows were as tall as the wall, wide, and let in the sunshine, giving the room a royal appearance almost, with all the rich dark wood. He loved libraries, eyes skimming the thousands of titles.

A strange noise caught his attention. He moved down the wall, searching for the source, until he realized what it was: voices. Deep voices, some raised in agitation. Pressing closer to the bookcase, he moved towards a second, narrower archway with a door cracked, giving him a six-inch space to peer into the room.

"…what John said," a familiar voice rose above a sudden din of raised protests: Brad Newbern. He moved into Sam's range of sight as he spoke, arms clasped behind his back as he paced out of view again.

"Since when do we rely solely only on what John says?" Noah demanded, coming into view, his shirt damp in places from the water gun fight earlier. He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, his elbow partially blocking Sam's view of the room, the tightness around his mouth evident even from where Sam was standing. "He's not exactly known for his honesty."

There were eight other people he could see but only a few he could make out, the rest shrouded in darkness or hidden behind the door. Michael, for one, leaning against the wall beside Noah, and Bruce Clayborne, seated in one of the plush chairs, back straight as a board, hands fisted on his knees, ever the military man apparently. Brad was pacing the office, hands clasped tightly behind his back. Seated beside Bruce was someone he'd never met but knew as Peter Knox, Jared's father, mostly for the similar facial structure and identical dark hair and silver-gray eyes.

"We cannot ignore it," Peter Knox argued, voice fierce. "Do you recall what happened last time that happened? Bobby almost got killed."

"Oh, shut up, Peter," Tony Baraldi said in a fierce tone. "You weren't even there."

"We cannot allow him to strut around doing whatever he damn well pleases," Brad pointed out, ignoring Tony's comment, kicking his friend's shin as he strode by. "He is refusing contact with any one of us. That poses a danger to himself as well as the Brotherhood. Last time he saw Bobby, he pissed him off so badly Bobby almost killed him."

"That's not what happened. According to Bobby–"

"Oh, come on, Singer's a bit of a batty old man," Jared broke in, coming out of nowhere, apparently having been silent through the entire exchange.

"Bobby has been a part of this far longer than you, boy," Bruce Clayborne growled, fists clenching and unclenching in what appeared to be an involuntary movement, much like Brad's bouncing knee.

"Just so we all understand," said Bruce, voice as dry as sandpaper and slicing through all other noise in the room, "John Winchester has all but dropped off the face of the planet, refused help from anyone, and is going after one of the fiercest demons we've ever encountered, single-handedly and without relaying anything he learns along to us."

"Yes." There was an edge to Brad's voice, his pacing pausing for a moment before resuming with vigor. "If I could find the bastard, I'd shoot him myself."

"Bradley, do sit down. You're giving me a blasted headache." The voice was raspy, rough, as if spoken by one who had smoked cigarettes for a long time, with a faint Scottish accent lilting the words, and came from somewhere behind the door.

"Yes, father." Brad sat down in the third chair, on the other side of Bruce, one leg bouncing restlessly up and down. His eyes fixed onto someone Sam couldn't see. "What do you know about the Demon?"

"We don't know anything about the Demon." Sam jumped and flattened himself further as Dean came into view, arms crossed, with his eyebrows drawn down in thought. "My father never told us anything, really. He took the Colt, too."

"Son of a bitch," Noah muttered, palming his face.

"The Colt is a loss, but not one we cannot recover from," Brad said, waving his hand dismissively. "We never exactly _needed _it in the first place. There is more than one way to kill a demon."

"Now what?" Michael inquired, voice flat.

"Think, boy," a gruff voice broke in, as a short, stocky fellow came into view, pulling something off the wall beside Noah, some sort of picture frame. "This is a potentially dangerous situation. We should heed Bobby's warning. This son of a bitch is dangerous."

"No shit, David," Bruce grunted, rolling his eyes. "Must you constantly point out the obvious?"

"At least someone is, Bruce." David stalked past him, disappearing from view again.

"We need a plan," John Newbern announced to the room at large, all other voices instantly quieting as soon as he began to speak, in some bizarre automatic response that obviously meant they respected Brad's father a great deal. Sam couldn't decide if this was some type of Mason-like society, or if it was a Cult. So far, it wasn't leaning either direction. "With a member of the Conclave absent, however, that will be difficult."

"Father–"

"Silence, Bradley. You know the Law. We cannot make a decision without the rest of the Conlave present. Their voices _must _be heard before a verdict is reached."

"John," said Tony Baraldi, incredulous. "Be reasonable. The only one missing is Bobby, and he'd agree with us one way or another."

"Do not make assumptions such as that, son," a second raspy voice replied harshly. "It matters not. We, as the Conclave, are bound by the Law set down by the Founders of the Brotherhood under the leadership of Samuel Colt. The Law has not been broken in one hundred and fifty years. I refuse to break it now." Sam stiffened at the mention of Samuel Colt, the maker of the famous Colt they had lost to their dad after the fight with the vampires. The sudden sound of a fist banging down on wood, silencing protests that had come to the lips of the younger men in the room, brought Sam's attention from his inner thoughts back to the bizarre meeting taking place before him.

Silence fell at his words, the men in Sam's view exchanging astonished expressions they quickly smoothed to blank. Sam was astonished. What _was_ this? Who _were_ these people? A conclave was a secret meeting in the Catholic Church between cardinals, usually when electing a pope. These people obviously weren't talking about the Catholic Church. And the way they had said "law" implied that the word was most certainly capitalized, as one did to God. The way they threw around brotherhood also implied it was a proper noun.

"Heavens, John, you've cracked the desk," John Newbern announced to break the silence, amusement lacing his voice. "Didn't think you had it in you."

"Shut up, JB. I did not crack your precious desk."

David moved back into view, running a hand through his hair. "_Seignior_–"

"Do not 'seignior' me, David," John Newbern cut in, stopping him mid-protest. "It is the _Law_. You know this as well as I. We wait for the input of Bobby."

"Very well, _seignior_."

"We must find John," John Baraldi said gravely, his voice the only noise in the now-silent room. "The survival of the Brotherhood depends upon it. I expect all of us to use our expansive resources. He cannot hide forever. Something big is happening, gentlemen. And I believe those of Winchester blood are stuck in the middle of it."

Goosebumps rose on Sam's body as he involuntarily shivered. He couldn't have agreed more.

"Meeting adjourned."

Sam cursed mentally and silently backed out of the room, aware of the door swinging open just as he entered the hall. He slipped into the room beside the library, the art room, and watched through the cracked door as the men filed out of the room, returning to the party.

His mind was working a mile a minute – what in the hell was going on? Dean was in a cult–maybe–and they seemed all to be familiar with his dad, and the demon. Now that they were all gone, he slipped back into the library, searching the books for any clues. He cautiously stepped into the study, to find it empty of the previous occupants, chairs arranged in a sort of circle to mimic the Round Table, perhaps.

There was a shelf on one of the walls, leather-bound journals filed neatly away in little cubbies. He reached up and pulled out the one closest to him, flipped it open, and found it to be Paige's hunting journal. He skimmed through it, and looked at the other twenty journals there. If hers was on the far right, then maybe… he traced his fingers along the spines, pulling out the oldest one, papers yellowed with age and written with ink and parchment, reading the name scrawled inside the cover.

_John Malcolm Newbern._

It was dated 1813. He flipped the page and started to read, hoping to find some answers.

* * *

Through a crack in the door to the study, shrouded deeply in shadows, he silently watched Sam sit down and flip through the first few delicate pages, holding the journal up to the light to read the carefully preserved words. A smirk tilted his lips – Sam wouldn't find anything in those journals, only more questions. The Brotherhood was far more careful than that.

All the same, he wondered if Sam should be included in the loop. It seemed right; John was a Brother, as was Dean, why not Sam?

It was something to bring up with the _seignior _that much was obvious. He ran his fingers absently over the tattoo of the devil's trap on his right upper chest, the symbol of the Brotherhood. Few actually tattooed themselves; he had done it on a dare, much to Noah's amusement.

Related to Dean or not–dependable, reliable, trustworthy, fiercely protective and loyal Dean–Sam was starting to present a flight risk. He was unpredictable, as unpredictable as his visions and the reason behind them; coincidentally, as unpredictable as John had turned out to be. The Brotherhood would keep that in mind, they couldn't risk him going evil, as remote as that possibility was. The Demon had done something to him, everyone knew it, except perhaps Dean, but only because Dean chose not to see it. There was a reason this damn thing had gone after its specific targets, same as it had gone after his own home, killing his mother when he was six months old and leaving him with far more answers than questions. Same as it had gone after _him_.

Sam may seem innocent, but there was something dark, churning deep in those puppy dog eyes of his.

Something that worried the Brothers.

And rightly so.

For that same darkness churned in his own eyes, he knew.

He fought it back with ease…for now.

Sam, however, wasn't as strong as the rest of them.

Eventually, he would crumble.

And all would be lost.

* * *

**E/N**: Cryptic, I know. And y'all are probably wondering what the hell I'm talking about. Don't worry, I'll explain in the next few. I cut this one short – much shorter than usual – so that I'd be able to post this week. I'm cramming for finals, which end on Friday… and then I'll have a chance to type up everything I've written down.

We're winding down here… only a few more left.

As always,  
**REVIEWS = LOVE**


	36. Chapter 36

**A/N**: Almost done! Hang in there!

**Disclaimer**: Only own my awesomely epic, extremely badass, ridiculously hot OCs. :D Though, I do wish I owned Jensen Ackles…. *tear*

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Six  
**Say WHAT?

**Thunder Creek, Wyoming  
**July 7, 2006

Sam snapped the last journal shut, frustrated. Cryptic mentions of a Brotherhood, the Law, and the Conclave, but nothing that actually meant anything. He sighed and rubbed his face. Should he confront Dean? What was he supposed to do, walk up to Dean and demand, "Hey, Dean… I trust you and all, but are you in some kind of creepy Cult?"

Yeah, because that would go over _so _well.

He chewed his lip absently as he thought. There had to be some connection, between him and this demon, his visions, this Cult (Brotherhood, whatever)… obviously, Paige and her family were involved. So… so maybe that's why Chris had died? Dean had said it was a demon. Maybe it was _the _Demon.

No, impossible. Dean would have told him something as major as that. Besides, their dad would have known.

But then, dad wasn't too chatty about things demon-related either.

Threading his fingers through his hair, he blew out a frustrated breath. Something big was approaching, he could feel it. Something didn't feel right. What he needed was to get back out there and fight alongside his dad, with Dean, and with the Colt, to kill this bastard once and for all.

Doubt nagged at him. Was Dean actually doing this for the reasons he claimed, or was he a puppet to be used by this Cult, this Brotherhood? Did he speak for himself, or did they speak through him?

Somehow, he had to bring this up with Dean. He had to _know_.

"You shouldn't be in here."

Cursing, Sam leaped out of his chair and landed in a defensive position before relaxing. A man stood in the doorway to the library…the same doorway he'd come in. He was as tall as him, his face in darkness, only a section of his forehead in the light, sunlight glinting off close-cropped, pale blonde hair. He was dressed in jeans, combat boots, and a form-fitting black long-sleeved shirt.

"Who are you?" Sam demanded harshly.

"Nobody that concerns you. Get out." A hand flashed up–large and scarred, he noticed–to jerk his thumb at the door to the hallway. "I'll be sure to mention to Paige that some creeper was nosing around in her private study."

Sam took a threatening step forward. "Who the hell do you think you are?" he growled.

"Someone who could kill you in a second, freak," the man said dangerously quietly. A knife was in his hands now, fingers pinching the point. He was relaxed and tense at the same time, and Sam somehow was reminded of a lion about to pounce for the kill, lazily displaying his strength. He had no doubt that this man – whoever the hell he was – could bury that thing in his heart, no problem.

"I'm not a freak," he said tightly. "Who are you?"

"Nice try. I'm not an idiot. Now scram." He leaned his head forward a mere fraction, enough for Sam to see a flash of light blue eyes that startlingly reminded him of someone he'd known long ago, but who… he couldn't remember.

"You have three seconds before this knife goes through your neck. Three, two…"

Sam vanished out the door, banging it shut behind him.

"…One." He moved into the room, returning the knife to his thigh sheath, smile curving his lips. "Didn't think so, book worm," he said to himself, returning Paige's journal to its rightful place.

Maybe Samuel Winchester wasn't suited for the Brotherhood, after all.

Every one of his Brothers would have pounced on him.

Sam, well… he'd tucked tail and ran.

But then, maybe that just made him smart.

Something to think about.

xxx

Dean weaved through the crowd, spotting Brad on the porch swing, hands folded in his lap. He moved and sat beside him, stretching his legs out.

"Sam was watching the meeting," Brad said, watching the children continue to play.

"I know. I heard him gasp when you mentioned the Demon." Dean glanced over at his father-in-law, uncertainty flashing on his features. "Brad, do you think we should include him in the loop? I mean… he's in the middle of this, too. I've kept him in the dark since I brought him here. It's starting to bug me."

"Not yet. I don't know your brother well enough to be able to tell if he's trustworthy."

He sighed and crossed his arms, green eyes troubled. "I trust him, Brad," he said honestly. "He's a good kid. He just has… well…"

"Revenge issues. I've seen it. That's dangerous, Dean. Too dangerous," Brad said gently, squeezing Dean's shoulder. "He has no thought for himself. If you weren't there with him he'd be long dead. He doesn't _think_."

Dean had no argument to that, so he stayed silent. "He's going to have questions," he warned.

"And what will you tell him, Dean?"

"My Oath to the Brotherhood binds me to silence, you know that. I can't tell him anything until we bring him into the Brotherhood. I know the Law."

"Good. Breaking the Law wouldn't be a good idea."

"So we keep him in the dark." Dean puffed out a frustrated breath, running a hand through his hair.

"He's been in the dark for months, Dean," Brad pointed out. "He's been fine."

"Yeah, but up until now he didn't know."

"Tell him what you can, Dean. Just enough to placate him. No more."

Dean sighed, not liking it one bit. "Very well," he agreed reluctantly.

Brad stood and stretched in mimic of a cat, arms high over his head. He reached down to clap Dean on the shoulder. "You'll make a good Conclave member some day, Dean," he said cheerfully. "I am honored to fight by your side."

He grunted but said no more as Brad disappeared into the crowd.

"You mind?"

Dean glanced up to find Noah standing there with two steaming cups of Paige's famous coffee. "By all means," he said, waving for his friend to sit down. He accepted the cup Noah offered him, blowing gently on the steaming liquid.

Noah sighed gratefully and sprawled comfortably, long legs stretched out in front of him. "Your brother fails at stealth," he commented.

He snorted. "I take it everyone noticed him then?"

"I noticed him the second he edged his damn fool mammoth frame into my peripheral vision. He was trying to blend with the bookcase. Somebody ought to tell him that doesn't usually work very well, not with those massive shoulders. I mean, _maybe _Sammy could pull it off, but that's pushing it." Noah chuckled and took a sip of the coffee.

"You look tired."

"I am. My damn idiot boss is running us ragged."

"More like John Newbern is running you ragged," Dean pointed out, taking a sip of the coffee and groaning appreciatively. "Sucks for you that a member of the Brotherhood just so happens to be your boss."

"Hmph, don't remind me."

"You have a new mission?"

"Yep. We head out at 1400 hours."

Dean glanced down at Noah's watch. "Dude, that was five minutes ago," he pointed out.

"Shh," Noah cut him off, lifting a finger. "What Cory doesn't know won't kill him. I'll blame it on traffic."

"Noah."

"What?"

"We're in Wyoming."

"Yeah…so?"

"So, there's _no _traffic in Wyoming."

Noah groaned. "You just have to ruin my day, don't you, Winchester?" he sighed, hauling himself to his feet again, downing the rest of the coffee in two searing gulps. He looked down at his friend. "See you around. Congrats again on the little guy, he's adorable. Thanks for letting me be his godfather."

"Thanks and you're welcome," Dean said, taking the empty cup and setting it on the side table. "You and Mike be careful, you hear?"

"Yeah, yeah."

"Say goodbye to Paige, too. She'll kick my ass instead of yours if you don't."

"I know," Noah said with a playful grin. "Take care of those kiddos for me." He flashed Dean a one-fingered salute before heading off to say the goodbyes.

Dean settled down in the swing again, sipping his coffee.

A cry rang out, loud and insistent. His eyes flew immediately to the gaggle of playing children, spotting Owen with a bloody scrape on his elbow. He glanced longingly down at his coffee, sighed in a resigned fashion, and set it on the side table, setting off at a jog down the steps.

Time to be a dad.

* * *

**July 10, 2006  
**Thunder Creek, Wyoming

Sam's eyes flew open suddenly. His heart was pounding a mile a minute and his head felt heavy. The adrenaline rush was making him sweat even as he laid there struggling to remember why he had woken up so suddenly. He rolled over to peer at the clock, reading six o' five in the morning.

Huh.

It rushed back to him – the library, the meeting, the _Conclave. _Ever since that day it had been eating at him, the sudden knowledge of that secret society and the fact that his older brother was very much a part of it. So far it seemed nobody knew he was onto them, or so he hoped, anyway.

All of this thinking wasn't going to get him anywhere. He rolled back over, watching Ally sleep. She seemed so innocent when her face was unguarded, her eyelashes a dark brush against her cheeks. Sometimes he wondered if he was doing the right thing – was he only marrying her because he'd accidentally knocked her up (twice) or because he honestly loved her? Was he marrying her because she made him happy (which she did) or because he had to? His twisted, agonized, and confused mind had difficulty separating feelings of Jess from feelings of her…even when his heart knew that he loved her. It did make him feel unfaithful, even though he'd gotten her pregnant before he'd ever even known Jess, before Brady had even introduced them.

He'd just left Ally behind without ever knowing what he was missing. Had he known, he never would have been with Jess – he would have been by Ally's side to welcome their son into the world, to love him and Ally, to be a faithful husband and doting father to their precious little boy. For some reason, fate had stepped in and put him with Jess. It was all so confusing – Ally, his first love, versus Jess, the first woman he'd wanted to marry.

Except that she _wasn't _the first woman he'd wanted to marry. He had wanted to marry Ally, but had never acted on that feeling because a part of him, a large part of him, knew that at the end of that fateful semester, she'd have transferred to Harvard like she'd planned and he would have returned to Stanford, on opposite sides of the U.S. It never would have worked, not with just the two of them.

The difference being that he would have _made _it work, for Levi's sake, if not just for Ally's. He regretted leaving her when he did. Maybe if he had, Jess never would have died – and then it would have been Ally dead on that ceiling, Ally burning to death, and him alone with a baby son like his father had been all those years ago.

How was he supposed to sort through those feelings – to value one life over the other? He didn't KNOW who he loved more, that was the problem. All he knew was that Jess' death was eating him alive with guilt and Ally was the only one capable of making him feel _happy _again.

Shaking himself free of such thoughts, he carefully extracted himself from the sheets and bent to kiss Ally softly on the lips, smiling when she wrinkled her nose up slightly and rolled fully onto her side facing him. Grinning now, he jumped in a quick shower and dressed, closing their bedroom door softly behind him so that she could get some extra sleep.

He slipped across the hall to their son's nursery, finding Levi sleeping peacefully. They'd had a late night at Dean and Paige's and he hadn't been put to bed until late, so hopefully he'd sleep in a little. He stood in the doorway to the nursery and studied his surroundings, amazed that in such a short time this place had became _home _to him.

Ally had decorated the entire house herself. It was two-storied with enough windows to let in the summer light and keep out the winter cold at the same time. The upstairs had five bedrooms and three bathrooms as well as a room they'd turned into a study. The master bedroom was farthest back and had its own bathroom. A door from the room led to Sam's study, bookshelves lined with hunting-themed books and a computer fast enough for him to do as much research as he liked.

Levi's nursery was directly across the hall. It was nautical themed, built by hand by Dean and the rest of the gang. They'd painted a mural of a cartoon-type sailboat on the open seas and had painted a compass on the ceiling, the fan directly in the center, making a faint _click-click_ as it rotated to keep the room free of the summer heat. There were shelves of little sailboats, a wooden ship's wheel hanging on the wall, and paintings of lighthouses and sea life at patterns on the wall. Wooden letters painted a dark blue that spelled LEVI hung over Levi's bed. He'd graduated from crib to bed a while ago, the toddler bed spread with a hand-sewn image of a lighthouse that Ally's mom had made for him, little head resting on a ship-decorated pillowcase.

The boy's nursery was next door to Levi's, the girl's next to his. The two nurseries had identical furniture arranged in different ways. The baby boy's nursery was rocket themed, the girl's ladybug themed. Ally usually had an aversion to all things pink, but he'd managed to win her over with promise of browns and whites intermixed with the pink.

The living room was warm and friendly with plush couches, a play area for Levi and the soon-to-be-born twins, brightly colored rugs and pictures on the wall of Levi and several images of Ally's childhood as well as snapshots of them together, probably snapped by Paige when neither Sam nor Ally was paying attention. It brought a sort of family aura to the room, paired with the vases of sunflowers, orchids, and roses giving the downstairs a pleasant sweet scent. The kitchen's walls were a soft green, the cupboards, table, and chairs oak with marble countertops. Attached to the kitchen was the dining room, with a long table to seat at the very least fourteen people to compensate for their large combined families.

A sunroom was at the front of the house, one wall lined with bookshelves with a fireplace on the opposite side, plush armchairs and a window seat with bright homemade pillows giving a view of the front yard, the quarter acre of land lined with a white picket fence with a midsized oak tree in the front yard. A flowerbed was up against the face of the house, a swing on their small porch, with an additional swing hanging from the strongest branch of the oak tree for Levi's enjoyment. The path to the house was decorated with colorful stones and concrete squares with their handprints and names.

The grass was green for the summer, the flowers in bloom, petals opening in the rising sun. The backyard contained a sandbox and a Jacuzzi, currently covered with the tarp. Ally's Yukon XL was parked in the garage. He strode down the stairs to the kitchen and dug around in the fridge for breakfast.

Pancakes, eggs, and bacon seemed simple enough. He opened the kitchen windows to let in the warm breeze and started whipping up all the ingredients he would need. Ally hated eggs but he and Levi loved them, so he beat three in a bowl and added some diced onions, tomatoes, and peppers as he'd observed Paige do on numerous occasions.

A soft cry over the baby monitor encouraged him to pause in making breakfast and hurry upstairs to intercept Levi before he could wake up Ally. He bounded up them three at a time to find Levi stumbling out of his room, stuffed dog Fly tucked under one arm and feet caught up in his blue blanket, lovingly dubbed Buckie.

"Hey, you," Sam crooned, scooping him up and nuzzling his cheek. Levi was only half-awake but becoming fully aware quickly, eyes brightening as he brushed his tangled mop of dark brown hair into a less unruly mess on his head. "Want to help daddy make breakfast?"

Levi nodded and peered at him over Fly's head, eyes crinkling as he smiled even though Sam couldn't see the bottom half of his face. He wiggled to get more comfortable and allowed Sam to quickly change his diaper and carry him downstairs.

"Well, Lee, daddy doesn't have a clue how to make pancakes," he said as he settled the two-year-old on his hip. Ever since Levi's second birthday on June 25, he was noticing more and more how much Levi was growing up. Levi did love it when you talked to him, so Sam did that all the time.

"Nilla," Levi said hopefully, pointing to the cupboard to the left of the sink.

"Vanilla?" Sam repeated, opening the cupboard and spinning the spice thingy around until he found the little brown bottle. "Mommy puts vanilla in pancakes?"

"Oco, oo."

"Chocolate, too, huh?" Sam mused with a grin, dropping a kiss on the end of Levi's nose. "Now, that doesn't surprise me. One of these days, your mommy is going to turn into chocolate, she eats so much of it." He chuckled when Levi grinned. "Here, want to stir?"

Levi nodded, so Sam bent lifted the bowl in his free hand and tucked it against his chest, watching Levi seize the spoon in both hands and stir it with enthusiastic excitement. He splattered pancake batter all over the both of them, but they were laughing and giggling to much neither really cared or noticed.

This was why Sam loved mornings now – he not only got to spend them with his beautiful fiancé, but with his wonderful son as well.

xxx

Ally was awake and had been for a while, listening to the boys giggling in the kitchen. She hoped they were behaving themselves. She sniffed the air and could smell bacon as well as something burning. It took extreme energy, but she managed to force herself awake and to sit up, hands cradling her ever-growing stomach. It was almost surreal that only four days from now, her and Sam would be married.

She stretched and took a long, relaxing shower, letting the warm water soothe the aches and pains that came with pregnancy. Using the brand-new soft towels she dried herself off and pulled on a simple sundress. Usually, she wasn't one for dresses, at all. With her growing belly –– the twins were due in September–– she'd realized that dresses were loose and comfortable and didn't constrict. So, sundresses had become sort of the norm at the moment.

The giggling had increased downstairs, and when she entered the kitchen, she paused for a moment to watch Sam and Levi attempting to flip dark brown pancakes they'd obviously forgotten about while cooking the eggs.

It was difficult not to laugh, but she managed. She watched for a moment before taking pity on her struggling soon-to-be-husband. "Need some help?" she said gently, turning off the burner and removing the spatula from his grasp.

"Mommy, ook eekfist," Levi said proudly, beaming.

Ally's grin stretched from ear to ear. "Oh, really?" she teased, poking him gently in his super-sensitive stomach. "I think you more killed breakfast than cooked breakfast."

"Oops," Sam said with a sheepish grin.

"Uh-oh," Levi said at exactly the same time, forlorn.

"To Dean and Paige's?" Sam guessed, glancing from the burnt pancakes to the burn eggs to the burned bacon. His face fell slightly. "I tried," he said.

"I know," she said gently, kissing him deeply. "And thank you. But," she snorted in laughter, "I don't think we should eat that." She pointed to the food.

Sam grinned. "Guess not," he agreed, bending to pull her into a hug. "I'll clean this up if you get him ready."

"I'll clean it," Ally corrected, waving him off. "Put him in jeans and a T-shirt and his little sneakers. And don't forget to give him his inhaler."

"I never do, sweetheart," Sam said, pulling her towards him for another quick peck on the lips. "Be right back."

"I'll call Paige," she sighed, dumping the food in the trash and carrying the bag out to the trashcan, waving to the neighbors before heading back inside. She called her best friend, the two of them sharing a laugh over Sam's cooking skills, and hung up just as Sam re-entered the kitchen with a fully dressed Levi.

"Ready to go?" Ally asked as she grabbed the keys and Levi's diaper bag, tucking the inhaler Sam handed her into one of the pockets. Sam took the keys from her and handed her Levi as he trotted down the steps to pull the car out of the garage. It only took a moment to strap Levi in and pull herself into the car, and off they went.

The drive over was extremely short, about seven minutes, and they were pulling up to park between Paige's Yukon and the Impala. The hands were already in the barn or in the fields, and Owen was leading Patch up the path to the closest paddock to turn him out for the morning.

"Morning," Paige called out the open window as they mounted the porch steps and entered the kitchen. She grinned at them as they stepped through the screen, wiping her hands on her apron to hug Ally and kiss Levi's cheek. She squeezed Sam in a tight hug and pecked him on the cheek. "Did you kill breakfast again?" she teased.

Sam grinned and tweaked her nose. "First time, thanks so much. It's hard to concentrate with a two-year-old on your hip."

"Tell me about it," Paige laughed, returning to the stove, turning off the burners and putting lids on the pans to keep the food warm.

"Where's Dean?" Ally asked as she set Levi off.

"With the baby," Paige explained.

Paige led them to the playroom. "Look who the cat dragged in," she said to Dean, running her hand through his hair.

"Hey," Dean said with a grin, standing to greet his brother and soon-to-be sister-in-law. He had baby Jace cradled in one arm, wrapped tightly in a blanket and fast asleep with his fist beside his face. "Excited for the wedding?"

A cry from upstairs interrupted them.

"I got it," Dean said, passing Jace along to Paige and bounding up the stairs.

Paige brushed her lips over Jace's forehead and gently rocked him back to sleep, pleased when his eyes drooped shut again. "Sleeping like a dream," she gushed to Ally with a wink. "A very welcome change from Sammy and Brody, who were partial to staying up all night long just to spite me."

"He's so cute," Sam observed, leaning over her to peer into Jace's face.

"Want to hold him?"

"I…uh…sure?" Sam said hesitantly, and before he could really protest, that warm weight was cradled in his arms. He stood there awkwardly for a moment while Paige and Ally disappeared to the kitchen to finish up breakfast. "Hey, little guy," he said awkwardly.

Jace didn't stir, but his fingers curled back into a loose fist as he yawned hugely before snuggling back into his chest. Sam's heart melted, and he knew he was a complete gonner. He dropped into the rocking chair and stared down at his infant nephew, astonished by the pure innocence of his tiny little face. He pushed off the floor and lost all sense of time.

Back in the kitchen, Paige finished setting up plates while Ally poured the milk. Dean appeared in the doorway with a fully awake Brody on his shoulder – the one-year-old had probably spent a half-hour or so laying quietly by himself like usual. He buckled the baby into his high chair and pulled it closer to the table. "He's grumpy today, honey," he warned. "I'm going to go get Owen."

Sure enough, Sammy appeared with fat tears rolling down his cheeks. "Hold me," he pleaded brokenly, "peez."

Paige waved him over and scooped him up, rubbing his back and rocking him back and forth, allowing Ally to transfer all the food to serving dishes and put them on the table. Sammy was soothed within a few moments, allowing her to put him in his booster seat and buckle him in, lifting Levi into the one beside it.

A general ruckus followed as Jace started crying in the living room. Paige rescued him from Sam and ushered her brother-in-law to the table as Dean literally dragged Owen inside by his elbow, lecturing him on coming inside when it was time to eat breakfast because Patch would be outside all day. Ally was speaking rapidly to Levi in Italian, scolding him for prodding the now-crying Sammy with a fork, while Paige attempted to soothe Jace's fussiness and her upset two-year-old at the exact same time.

"Madness," Paige sighed as Sammy finally got over it and Levi was thoroughly scolded. She dropped into her chair and said a quick prayer for the table before jumping back up to pass the baby to Dean and go around to cut up all her sons' pancakes to bite-sized pieces.

"So how's the new house, Sam?" Dean asked as he settled Jace in one arm, using the other to eat. Brody's high chair was between him and Paige, allowing him to prevent Brody's newest habit of throwing food at people.

"Good," Sam replied as he took Levi's milk away. "Eat first," he reminded his son before turning back to his brother. "We've settled in. Just getting ready for the wedding, now. All my college buddies sent in their RSVPs except for Brady. Ally's dress and my tux just arrived from New York yesterday. We've dotted our i's and crossed our t's, and all that's left is the ceremony."

Ally asked him a question, drawing Sam's attention to her instead of his brother. Dean smiled up at his wife and passed Jace back to Paige as she sat down, kissing his wife on the top of the head and brushing his fingers down her cheek. "How'd you sleep last night?"

"Okay," she replied with a dimpled grin. "I love being able to sleep on my stomach again."

"I'll bet," he agreed with a chuckle. The last few nights she'd taken to burrowing into the pillow while lying flat on her stomach, all but kicking him off his side of the bed. Jace had been super-fussy once or twice, but for the most part he'd been an angel. Not that sleep was all that abundant, with three other energetic kids to look after.

"Rachel offered to babysit today so that we can go into town to finalize the wedding plans," she said, spearing a strawberry on her fork. "I told her I'd take Jace with us but leave the other three for her and Jared to dote on."

"Sounds good to me," Dean agreed, rubbing her back with his free hand. "Have you heard anything from your dad?"

She nodded. "He's coming into town tomorrow to help finalize plans. Tony's coming, too. Apparently, Noah and Michael are being reassigned to somewhere else."

"By who's order?"

Sam's ears picked up their speech, even as he continued to smile and nod at Ally's list of to-do's for the wedding. He strained to hear what they were saying.

"Corey's, I heard," Paige continued, ignoring the rest of the table altogether. "He's apparently found evidence he wants to check out."

"Where?"

"I'm not sure, Ohio, I think. He's sending the whole team."

Dean finished up the rest of his pancakes. "Any word on her?"

Paige sighed loudly and shook her head. "Nope, none. Not since the sixth. She's either running silent or is MIA… at this point, it's difficult to say. Any word from your dad yet?"

He shook his head, tracing his fingers gently over the slightly raised scars on her back. Aware of Sam's eavesdropping, he leaned in until his lips brushed her ear. "Promise me that no matter what happens, you won't go anywhere alone," he murmured.

"Promise," she murmured back, "so long as you do the same."

Dean's eyes crinkled as he smiled. He jerked his chin in Sam's direction. "He may be an eavesdropping sasquatch," he said softly, "but he's decent backup. I'll be fine."

"I know you will."

Sam was disappointed but didn't show it as he started an argument over flowers with Ally. He didn't really care, he just hated roses.

They reminded him too much of funerals.

* * *

**July 14, 2006  
**Thunder Creek, WY  
Red Trail Ranch – Elliot's Land

The wedding of Ally Baraldi and Sam Winchester was no small affair. There were seven bridesmaids, six groomsmen, three altar boys, one ring bearer, two flower girls, and enough firepower to wipe out the entire town three times over. Nearly every single attendee was armed in one way or another, be they hunters, federal agents, police officers, or soldiers.

The groom wasn't too happy about the crowd but acknowledged that it was pointless to argue. The father of his bride was one of the richest men in the world after all, and knew quite a few very powerful people. Dotted throughout the crows were body guards and private security, sticking out like sore thumbs in their black suits, ear pieces, and sunglasses.

Elliot's house was packed beyond capacity. The chief of police had borrowed every spare chair in town to compensate for the massive amounts of people. It had taken nearly an hour to set up the chairs in rows that were now fully occupied. The Baraldi and Newbern extended families were so large they spilled over to fill the rest of the groom's side packed only with his father's close friends and his college buddies.

The bride and groom were deliriously happy, this wedding long-awaited for by any count. It was made possible by wedding planner Debbie Newbern, who had stepped in to plan everything so that Ally wouldn't have to. The band was playing Mozart softly on their stage – though with Debbie's involvement was less of a band and more of an orchestra.

Flowers were everywhere, filling the fields with their sweet scents. The arch was decorated with white roses intermixed with hyacinths. Flowers lined the walkways and were arranged in decorative pots at the end of each isle to further border the pathway, mixes of lilies, hyacinths, buttercups, and pink orchids.

Every little last detail had been meticulously planned. When the groomsmen lined up to the right of the archway, the music would stop; trumpets would sound, the crowd would stand, and the fancy event would begin.

The bride, bridesmaids, flower girls and ring bearer waited in the downstairs of Elliot's ranch house. The bride looked stunning in her flowing white dress, loose enough to make her nearly-seven-month baby bump more bearable.

Paige was putting the last touches on Ally's veil, doing her best to keep Ally's beautiful hairstyle intact. "Stop fidgeting," she scolded gently, squeezing her best friend's hand.

Ally grinned. "I'm nervous," she whispered. "Where's Amy? She's supposed to have my bouquet."

The door opened and Amy slipped through, closing the door behind her.

"Why haven't we started yet?" Paige said quietly, as Amy handed Ally her bouquet.

"We're waiting on Zack Warren, one of Sam's groomsmen," Amy explained, smoothing creases out of her light blue dress. She jumped away from the door when it opened again and Dean stepped through.

"Zack just called, he got stuck in traffic. There was an accident out of Cheyenne," said Dean.

"Good," Paige said, motioning him over. His tie was crooked, so she reached up to fix it for him. "Stop fidgeting."

"Well, excuse me," he quipped sarcastically. "I hate monkey suits."

"You look hot in them," said Paige, rolling her eyes.

Dean beamed. "Thanks," he said cheerfully.

Paige just laughed and smacked him on the chest. "Get back out there and wait for Zack," she ordered, shooing him out the door, but not before he could drop a quick kiss on her lips, probably messing up her makeup. Before he could slip away she seized him by the shirtsleeve. "Where's Jace?"

"With Rachel," he explained, squirming out of her grip. "Don't worry, baby, he's fine." With one last grin and wink, he slipped out the door.

Amy shook her head and smiled bemusedly. "What do you _do _with him?" she wondered, curious.

Puffing her hair out of her eyes, Paige grinned at her sister-in-law. "Keep him in line," she responded, winking. "It's a very difficult task, that. He's a natural at misbehaving."

Paige slipped out the door after her husband, hurrying to the doorway and down the porch steps just as a car pulled up and Zack and who she assumed was his sister jumped out and hurried towards the setup. Dean and Sam both flashed thumbs up as she hurried back up the steps.

She hurried back to the room and threw the door open. "It's time," she said happily as the music started to play, squeezing Ally's hands for comfort as Tony Baraldi appeared in the doorway, tears in his eyes as he held out his arm for his baby girl.

"Emily, Sydney, come on," Paige coaxed, pulling the little girls forward, smiling at the adorable cuteness of their sky blue dresses and fancy hair. The two were complete opposites – Sydney had thick, dark brown hair and hazel eyes like her mother, whereas Emily had white-blonde hair and bright blue eyes like her father, Ally's cousin Jonathan – but held hands, each grasping their little white baskets full of flower petals. "You too, Levi."

Levi didn't look happy one bit, crying out for Ally to hold him.

Paige crouched in front of him. "Come on, Lee, just hold the pillow like we practiced," she whispered as her nephew did just that. She wiped the tears from his face and brushed his dark mop of hair out of his eyes. "After, I'll get you the biggest lollypop I can find, okay?"

"Okay," Levi mumbled, brightening at the mention of sugar.

"Bribing my son with sugar," Ally said drily. "You have sunk low, my friend."

"Hey, he's your kid," Paige retorted as Levi hurried out after the girls. "Don't judge me."

Ally rolled her eyes and grinned, not bothering with a witty remark as she grasped her bouquet tightly in both hands and allowed her dad to tuck her arm into his. She smiled at him through the veil and followed the procession down the steps. Her eyes locked on Sam's, and all of her nerves melted away.

It was a beautiful ceremony, the bride and groom exquisite, the flower girls and ring bearer adorable. When Ally and Sam exchanged their vows and kissed in front of Pastor Jim, the entire gathering broke into applause and stood, cheering their happiness for the new couple. Sam scooped up a hysterically laughing Levi and slipped an arm around his new wife, leading her down the aisle to the _Just Married _car for their little trip around town before coming to the reception at Paige and Dean's.

Dean hurried over to Paige, Brody and Jace in his arms while Owen trailed in his wake grasping the edge of his suit in one hand and Sammy's in the other. "Ready to go?" he said.

"Yep," Paige replied, hopping into Jared's jeep for the quick ride over to their house to get the rest of the reception details in place. Sam and Ally would be taking their wedding photos at the lake on Elliot's property before heading over to their ranch, allowing them time to set up the dance floor and the food.

The wedding reception was already in full swing by the time the guests of honor arrived, grinning from ear to ear, Sam dragging Ally onto the dance floor for the ceremonial first dance, to be replaced by her father and then her brother, followed by her oodles of cousins and close family friends.

Dean held a champagne glass in one hand and had his other resting on his wife's hip. "They look happy, don't they?" he murmured in her ear as he watched Sam take Ally back and spin her around the dance floor. Ally's stomach was still relatively small, but wouldn't be for long.

"They do," Paige sighed, leaning back against him and sighing in relief. It had been a stressful day, but the wedding had gone off without a hitch and it was time to let loose and have a little fun. She had no idea where Debbie had disappeared too, and as she had Jace that was a bit problematic, but that was okay. The guests were spinning around the makeshift dance floor to the sounds of the local country band, Sam's college buddies intermixing with the rest of the guests, the kids running around with their suit jackets absent.

"It was perfect," he assured her, resting his cheek against her temple. "Though, ours was more perfect." His eyes crinkled when he smiled warmly at her.

Paige's lips quirked into a loving smile. "Good answer, Mr. Winchester," she said teasingly, kissing the cleft of his chin. She backed away from him towards the dance floor, both of his hands grasped in hers as she kicked off her heels. "Come dance with me."

Dean shrugged off his suit jacket and hung it over the back of the nearest chair, took her hands in his, and allowed her to drag him along.

It really was too bad that Noah and Michael had missed all of this.

* * *

**Thunder Creek, WY  
**Red Hill Ranch  
July 15, 2006 – 12:01 AM

Dean sat on the couch, beer bottle in hand as he absently swirled the liquid. He'd barely had a sip, holding onto it for sentimental reasons. The wedding party was still going outside, their guest rooms packed with Paige's family members' children. They'd been put to bed around ten.

It was late, but he couldn't get his mind to relax. It whirled a million miles a minute inside his head.

The Colt.

It had been a legend, until they'd found it with Daniel Elkins. If it really did kill everything like legend claimed, his dad would try to use it on the demon.

Demons.

There was more and more of them in the world, it seemed. Brad was worried, and rightly so. Something big was going down, not that he would mention that on his brothers' wedding night. Speaking of brother, Sam and Ally had left for their honeymoon in Fiji hours ago. Their flight was leaving from LAX at eleven forty-five.

Except for the fact that upstairs was his newborn baby, three sons, and his wife, all of whom were trapped in this now, same as he was. Sighing, he stood and dropped his bottle into the trash, weaving through the people loitering in the kitchen, some drunk, some not. Two people he'd never seen in his life were making out on the porch steps. He shut off the kitchen lights, trusting Elliot to keep order outside and deal with all the drunken idiots that would come out of this shindig.

The green glow of the clock on the stove read 12:03. He rubbed his eyes and headed upstairs, navigating by memory. He paused in the doorway of his room, surprised to find it already black when Paige had only come up a few minutes ago. The lump under the covers could only be his wife, taking full advantage of the fact that she could now sleep on her stomach.

He crept to the bassinette, where Jace was awake with his arms waving in the darkness. As gently as he could, he lifted his son and cradled him in his arms. The rocking chair Paige had moved to their room creaked slightly when he sat down, holding Jace close as he pushed off with his foot, smiling down at him. "Hey, little man," he whispered, slipping his index finger into the baby's hand. Jace tightly gripped his index finger with surprising strength.

Moonlight filtered through the curtains beside him, the soft glow of the light bathing them both. He stared into his son's deep blue eyes, wondering what color they would be – blue like Paige's, green like his, maybe hazel like Brad or his dad.

He leaned the glider back a few clicks, keeping the rocking motion steady. Jace was still squirming, kicking his arms and legs, head turning to keep Dean's face in the line of sight. He settled Jace on his chest, breathed a deep breath, and closed his eyes while he rocked his son. It was peaceful, even with the baby's incredible heat baking his skin. He rubbed circles on Jace's back, wondering if it would put him out like it had always done for Sammy.

Jace's eyes drooped slowly shut until he went limp. Dean stayed like that, unwilling to move. An hour ticked by and his back started to cramp, so he lowered Jace back to his bassinette and hoped he would sleep for a long time so that he could get a good night's sleep.

Dean stripped to his boxers and climbed into bed, careful not to jostle Paige. He cracked a grin when he eased the covers off of her head – she was on her stomach, one arm curled under her pillow, the other thrown onto his side of the bed. He moved her arm carefully down to her side and settled on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

"You okay?" Paige asked groggily, slipping her hand into his and squeezing gently. Their fingers tingled where they touched, the touch electric as always.

"Can't sleep," he admitted, turning his head to smile at her.

A sudden roar on the roof made them look upward. Startled yells echoed from the wedding after-party outside, the lights a faint glow on the curtains.

"Looks like the storm is finally here," he commented. It was torrential downpour. The smell of it drifted through the open window. "Held off just long enough to keep the wedding dry."

"That's July for you," she yawned, dropping her head back to the pillow. She lifted it again to per over at Jace, only to find him sound asleep. "Heaven," she announced, snuggling into his side. "Two weeks old and he sleeps almost through the night."

Dean hauled her up against him, running hands through her long hair, settling his hands on her back.

"Why is your shirt off?" she mumbled, pressing her cold nose against his warm shoulder.

"Not complaining, I hope," he teased.

"What time is it?"

"Almost two." He glanced at the clock. "Just kidding, two o' nine."

Paige groaned. "Why did you wake me up?" she mumbled, burrowing into his embrace. She'd only put Owen, Sammy, Brody, and Jace to bed about four hours ago, not the greatest nap.

"I didn't mean to." His hands traced feather-light touches up her arms. A sudden flash of lightning lit the room, illuminating the room before it faded.

"Why can't you sleep, Dean?" she wondered, rolling on top of him and stacking her arms under his chin. She rested her chin on her arms and gazed down at him, studying his face. The only sign of exhaustion was the slight tightness around his eyes.

"The storm isn't helping," he said hesitantly.

Paige's eyebrow arched.

"You're not helping much, either," he admitted, resting his hands on her hips, under the fabric, thumbs circling her soft skin.

"Dean," she warned.

Dean exhaled slowly. "We found the Colt," she admitted.

Paige blinked in surprise, staring down at him as her mind kicked into overdrive. "The Colt?" she repeated. He nodded, eyes fixed on hers, waiting for it to click. "As in _the _Colt, made by Samuel Colt in 1835?"

He nodded solemnly. "I put it in the safe. My dad used it to kill a vampire," he explained. "Daniel Elkins had it this entire time."

She narrowed her eyes. "That son of a bitch," she breathed. "All those years, he lied, right to my dad's face." She looked down at him again, biting her lip. "You're going to use it to kill the Demon."

"Are you mad?" Dean murmured.

"No."

"You sure?"

"Yes," Paige whispered, kissing him.

"I was going to tell you, I just got distracted," he explained. "But then Jace came, and we were exhausted, and I just never got around to it. That's it, I swear."

"Nobody's on the witness stand, Dean," she reminded him. "You aren't on trial."

Dean slipped his hands under her shirt to rest them on her back again. "Something big is about to happen," he told her. "I can't feel it. I don't want you in the middle."

"I'm already in the middle, Dean."

Dean's heart jumped in his chest. His mind skipped back to almost losing her, to almost having to bury her, to seeing her pale and lifeless on that hospital bed. Ice rushed to his veins at the very thought as he swallowed past a suddenly dry throat. Their eyes locked, green warring with blue, neither willing to back down.

"And these?" he whispered in response to the challenge in her eyes, fingers tracing the fading, slightly raised scars on her back.

Paige silently traced the patterns of scars decorating his chest and shoulders. "You have them, too," she said sadly. "We're in this together, Dean. Remember? Through thick and thin."

"I remember," said Dean, eyes pained. "I can't…I can't lose you again. I _can't_."

She smiled.

"You won't."

A baby monitor on her bedside table crackled to life. Paige and Dean turned their heads to look at the row of baby monitors. There were three lined up, the middle one currently showing noise. She dropped her head to his chest and groaned.

"Brody," he guessed, grinning. He squeezed her gently. "I'll get him. Get off me."

"Wait," she whispered against the hollow of his throat. "He might to back to sleep."

The cries faded as Brody slipped back to sleep, leaving them in peaceful silence.

Dean felt her lips curve into a smile against his neck. "You were right," he whispered, yawning.

Paige was already asleep.

* * *

**Thunder Creek, WY  
**July 25, 2006

Dean started awake at the familiar buzzing noise. He snatched his phone off the table before it could wake Paige or Jace and held it to his ear.

"What?" he grumbled.

"Hey, Dean. just got a call from dad," Sam said by way of greeting, discounting the fact that it was four in the morning. "He changed his mind. We're going to hunt this thing down with him."

Excitement made his heart pound as he sat up straight in bed. "You serious?"

"Hell, yeah. Dad wants us to meet him in Manning, Colorado."

Manning was only about three hours from here, Dean mentally calculated. They could make it just after sunrise, easily. He glanced at the clock. "Pick you up in ten?"

"Perfect. I'll go tell Ally."

Finally – a chance to go after the thing that had ruined his life, a chance to kill the demon who had taken his mom away. The mere thought had his head spinning with excitement.

Paige sat up beside him, rubbing her eyes. Her heart dropped slightly when she recognized his excited expression and the almost feral light in his eyes.

"We're finally going after it," Dean said as he yanked on clean clothes. "A chance to end this thing once and for all."

She watched silently as he pulled on his boots.

"You'll be okay here alone?" he asked as he laced his boots.

"I'm never alone, Dean," she reminded him, not pushing him away when he decided to kiss her breathless.

"Somebody has to watch their backs," he explained as he shouldered into his leather jacket. "This thing killed my mom, Paige."

"Am I arguing?" she shot back, leaning on her elbows. "Revenge, justice. Believe me, I get it." She pointed at herself. "Hunter, remember?"

Dean relaxed. "Thank you. For understanding,"" he added, hugging her tightly. "This damn thing won't get a crack at you."

She walked him to the garage door.

"I can't come with you," she reminded him, "so be careful. Watch each other's backs out there."

His eyes softened as he hugged her again. "Once a hunter––"

"––always a hunter," she finished for him. She pressed his knife into his hands. "You might need this."

"I wish you could come," he said softly, pausing with his hand on the doorknob.

"No, you don't," she laughed, reaching around to open the door for him. "You'd just worry about me the whole time. Go." She gave him a gentle push. "We'll be here when you get back."

Dean pushed her arms aside and yanked her against him, one hand fisted in her hair, pulling her head back to give him better access to her soft mouth. He kissed the breath right out of h er, pulling away when he was lightheaded.

"I love you," he whispered hoarsely, voice gravelly.

"Ditto," Paige whispered, smiling. "You need to leave before you start something we won't have time to finish."

Still, he hesitated, so many things he wanted to say, he just didn't know how. "Paige––"

"We'll be fine," she gently assured him, hand smoothing his cheek. "I won't hold you back, Dean. This is a part of you. Now, go."

He kissed her one last time before leaving, heart heavy with uneasiness. This whole thing was making his senses tingle uncomfortably. He just had a feeling that something was going to happen. His eyes remained fixed on her until the ranch faded into the background.

Dean's mind switched gears as he entered hunting mode, pulling in front of Sam and Ally's. Sam was waiting on the porch. He shoved all thoughts of Paige and the kids aside as Sam kissed Ally goodbye and jogged for the Impala.

He was by definition a soldier.

And to survive, that's what soldiers did.

They forgot, even if it killed them.

* * *

**Malibu, California  
**July 26, 2006

Brad Newbern twirled the clear glass ball in his hands, absently staring out the window of his office building to the ocean, eyes fixed on the horizon. The door opened behind him, but he didn't turn around.

"You asked to see me, _signore_?"

"I did," said Brad, emotionlessly. "Have you determined what I asked?"

"Dean and Sam Winchester left their home in Wyoming, heading in the direction of Ohio, presumably to meet up with _frater_ John Winchester."

"Very good." Brad paused twirling the glass ball and bounced it in his palm. "My daughter is still in Wyoming, I trust."

"Yes, _signore_."

"Watch her," he ordered, crossing his legs, bouncing his left foot in the air while he thought. "If she leaves, follow her."

"Yes, _signore_." The man paused, struggling with himself for a moment. "If I may ask, _signore_, why?"

"It killed my son. It could very well come for my daughter next. I won't let that happen." Brad twirled his chair around to face the young man standing just inside the doorway. "You passed the test. Now prove that you can do the will of the Conclave despite personal reservations."

The man dipped his head, forcing back protests and biting his tongue.

"You spied on Sam Winchester already. The information you have given us over the past year has proven very effective and helpful," he said conversationally, bouncing the glass ball in his palm again. "Spying on Paige won't get you anywhere. When she figures it out––and she will–– tell her the truth."

"Yes, _signore_."

"If you find Brennan there, you let us know immediately."

"Yes, _signore_."

"Make the Conclave proud." Brad smiled without humor and tossed the glass ball, watching the young man snatch it midair and cradle it in his palm. "Get out. Give that to my assistant on your way to the door."

The door clicked shut behind him.

Brad reached forward and picked up the phone, holding it to his ear. "I hope you're right about his abilities, Bruce," he said conversationally, crossing his legs at the ankle. "If not, there will be hell to pay. The _Domus_ will not be amused if he fails."

"He won't," Bruce replied. "We have full faith in him."

Brad was skeptical but kept his opinion to himself. "Keep me updated."

"I will."

He hung up the phone and leaned back in the chair, drumming his fingers together. His eyes were drawn to the corner of his desk, to one of his favorite photographs of his precious son and daughter. They were five and seven, sitting in his lap in the pool of Castaway Island, Fiji, giggling and clutching milkshakes. Sadness weighed heavily on his heart.

The Chosen must not fail.

* * *

**Thunder Creek, WY  
**July 28, 2006

Paige whistled as she scrubbed the dishes clean, keeping a close eye on her sons playing in the yard. The baby was sleep in his bouncer on the counter, and a good thing, too. The little stinker had kept her up all night crying. He'd been running a slight fever this morning, so she was keeping an especially close eye on him.

"Mooooooooooom!"

"In here," she called as Owen bolted to the kitchen, holding up scraped and bleeding elbow. "Oh my. Come here." She lifted her five-year-old to the counter and snatched the first aid kit from the counter. "Hold still, baby."

"Hurts," Owen whined, fighting back tears and a wobbling lip.

"Okay, hold on, this will sting a little," she warned, dabbing the wound with alcohol. She cleaned it up and taped a bandage over it. "All better."

Owen sniffed and wiped his cheeks as she lowered him back to the ground.

"Baby Jace!" he said cheerfully, pulling himself up onto the counter to gently kiss the baby's head. "Mommy, can I help feed him later?"

"Maybe," Paige said. "Come on, out you go. Go groom Patch or something."

He skipped back out the door, scrape forgotten.

Paige shook her head, smiling faintly. Little boys had amazingly short memories when it was convenient. The phone ringing made her jump. She scooped it up just a second too late, Jace started crying. She bounced the bouncer and made faces at him in an effort to calm him down, pinning the phone between ear and shoulder.

"Winchester residence, Paige speaking," she said hurriedly into the phone.

There was no response.

"Hello?" she said, pulling the phone from her ear to glance at the screen: it was connected to a call. "Hello?" she repeated, forcefully. She was about to hang up when a sudden scream of pain echoed through her ear, making her jump in shock and almost drop the phone.

"STAY AWAY!"

Paige stared at the phone, recognizing Connie's voice. "Connie!" she shouted, horrified, hand gripping the counter, Jace's crying seemingly far away. "CONNIE!"

There was a gunshot and an explosion followed by static on the line.

"Hello?" she repeated shakily.

The line went dead.

Taking a deep breath, Paige put the phone on the cradle and scooped up her crying infant. Dean wasn't here and no one else knew where Connie's house was. There was only one thing to do now.

* * *

**Salmon Lake, Montana**  
July 29, 2006

Paige peeled off her jacket, a thin sheen of sweat dampening her brow from the unrelenting Montana mid-summer heat. Her legs were baking in her pants, but it was better than having them be scratched constantly by the brush she was currently hiking through. Shrugging her backpack higher, she griped the straps and pushed the rest of the way up the hill.

Salmon Lake, Montana. Perhaps it was ironic that this was in this area that both Connie family and the Sailor family had been murdered, both times by demons. She was beginning to think of this place as cursed. Throughout childhood she'd driven by Salmon Lake about a hundred million times. Her family owned a cabin on Placid Lake, about twenty minutes up the road depending on how fast one drove. Another thirty minutes up the same road was Seeley Lake, place of the murder of the Sailors.

She topped the rise and sucked in a startled breath. The cabin was there – the same cabin Connie had lived in before the explosion had taken her family. It looked exactly the same… just as Luke had built it, except for the fact that half of it looked like it'd been destroyed by artillery fire.

Something else was wrong, though. She shed her pack in favor of a knife and rifle, leaning on a rock to ascertain the condition of the remaining building. The upstairs looked fine, she saw no signs of movement there or in the trees. She lowered her scope to the bottom floor, to find the windows cracked or shattered, jagged pieces of glass sparkling on the porch. The front door was bowed inward, cracked nearly in half, with part of the doorway ripped away.

Suddenly she wished Dean was here with her. Huffing a frustrated breath, she half-turned to the path behind her. "I know someone is back there," she said softly, voice carrying on the wind.

An amused chuckle filled the silence. A man stepped out of the gloom of the woods, seeming to materialize out of nowhere. Disbelief filled her.

"Cole?" she said, shocked, eyes flying wide. "Cole _Clayborne_?"

Cole stepped forward, pushing and gloved hand through his white-blonde hair. He was tall, not near as tall as Noah, about six-five, she'd guess, with the same blue eyes. He looked different than she remembered. All his sixteen-year-old baby fat had vanished to be replaced by a handsome, rugged face with just a little boyish charm left over.

"Hey, Paige," he said softly, moving up the path towards her, slinging his rifle over his shoulder.

"How the hell did you find me?"

"I'm good at tracking," he explained, eyes flickering to the ground and back up. "Dad sends me on missions for the Brotherhood all the time. I turned twenty this year, figure he thinks he can trust me now."

Paige's eyes narrowed as she studied him. "What the hell are you _doing_ here?"

His lips curled into a smirk. "What are you doing here?" he volleyed back.

"Stop answering questions with questions."

That irritating smirk didn't fade. She'd forgotten that Cole's expressions made her want to hit him in the face with a shovel. In fact, Cole's very _existence_ made you want to hit him in the face with a shovel. Or run him over with a truck. Or throw him in the Australian outback and let him get eaten alive by dingoes.

He just had that effect on people.

She really wasn't in the mood for this. Hell, anyone other than Cole and she'd be relatively okay. She honestly couldn't fathom how he and his brother could be so _completely _different. Noah was a guy who was kind and funny and people loved because he generally cared (unless he was busy intimidating the socks off you) but Cole was the guy that everyone hated because he was such an arrogant ass.

"Why are you here? Tell me. Now," she demanded.

Cole sighed, rubbing his hands together. "I'm looking after you," he shrugged.

"I'm perfectly capable of looking out for myself."

His eyes flashed. "You _should_ be home with that baby."

Paige punched him on the arm, hard, and pointed a finger in his face. She hated him for bringing that up, for reminding her of the ache she'd tried desperately to ignore since leaving her one-month-old baby in Rachel's care. "_That_ _baby's _name is Jace," she snapped. "I didn't ask for you to come here. Leave. I honestly don't even know how you found this place. Few even know about it."

A strange light entered Cole's devilish eyes, so briefly she might have imagined it. "Let's just say I've got a certain connection," he said casually, waving his hand dismissively. "I don't want to be here, either, okay? I personally disagree with working with a part-demon, but hey, she's your partner."

"You're right. She's _my _partner," she growled, picking up her rifle again to study the bottom floor. Still no movement through the windows. Cole's form didn't move from her peripheral vision. "Why are you still here?"

"I told you, I don't want to be here. But I don't have a choice. I'm here on orders."

"Oh yeah? Who's?" she challenged, not looking at him.

Cole's hand came down hard on the barrel, yanking the rifle half out of her grasp. She glared at him but he didn't release his hold, and he didn't release her gaze, either. "John Newbern's," he growled, eyes flashing again. "Maybe you've heard of him, seeing as he's, you know, your _grandfather_? Not to mention leader of the Conclave. _He _ordered me here, and he told me that if anything happened to you, he'd kill me himself."

"Oh really," Paige said flatly, yanking her rifle free and smacking the butt down on his arm, pleased when he jumped back and rubbed his fingers on the offended area. "Why, pray tell, would he send you instead of someone more _qualified_." _Like Michael, Noah, Elliot, Jared, Cameron Shaw, or about a hundred other hunters_, she added silently.

"I'm perfectly qualified," said Cole confidently. "I passed my tests with flying colors. The Conclave was impressed."

"Of course they were," she muttered under her breath, turning her back on him. Translation: the Conclave had sent him just in case she found something to do with the Yellow Eyed Demon, so that Cole could report directly back to them. Dean was hunting it with his family right now, and had apparently decided to run silent just like John had. The Conclave wasn't very amused at the moment.

"What was that?"

"Nothing." She dropped her pack behind a tree and switched her rifle for a Glock .22, unsnapping the clasp on her hunting knife just in case. "You comin' or what, flyboy?"

Cole silently followed behind her, eyes raking over the structure. He ignored her for the most part, wishing above all things that Noah had been sent instead of him. Constance Brennan was _not _one of his favorite people. She was down towards the bottom of the list, along with Satan, other demons, and Michael Jackson (because that dude _creeped_ him out).

"I'm surprised the Conclave hasn't ordered Constance's execution yet," he called to her back, quickening his pace to keep up. He delighted when her shoulders tensed. "You keep her little part-demon secret from them?"

Paige forced her shoulders to relax and took a deep breath, struggling to convince herself that shooting him in the head would only cause more trouble. "They know, dumbass," she said instead, shooting him a scornful glare over her shoulder. "She's in the Brotherhood."

Cole immediately stiffened, his eyes narrowing to slits. "That's a lie."

She shrugged. "Think what you want," she said flatly. "I really don't give a damn."

"What are you _doing_?" he demanded, incredulous. He watched as she strode up the stairs and straight into the house. He scrambled after her, grabbing her sleeve to slow her down.

Tearing her arm free, she quickly scanned the foyer. There were traces of sulfur on the windowsills and the devils traps cleverly hidden all around the place were destroyed or broken. "There's nothing here, EMF would have picked up activity," she said absently, tossing her EMF monitor at him. She started up the stairs at a jog, following a thin trail of blood drops and glass shards.

"This blood looks fresh," she muttered under her breath, smearing it with her boot. Quickening her pace, she burst into the master bedroom, where Connie and Luke had slept. The room was a mess, obvious signs of a struggle. The furniture was overturned.

Paige hurried over to the bed and fell to her knees, hand reaching to the ledge Luke had built in. she fumbled for a moment before carefully pulling free a two inch tall marble statue of a sleeping round-cheeked baby with a halo over his head. Connie had made it before Brennan was born, and it had protected his nursery. She cradled it in her hand and dropped her Glock on the carpet, searching the ledge until she found the photo album and pulled it down. It thudded to the carpet with a whoosh of dust and she dragged it into the light, flipping through to make sure there was nothing missing. She closed the album with a snap and grabbed her weapon.

Cole peered down at her. "What is that?" he wondered.

"Shut up," she ordered, shoving past him, following the blood drops again. She froze when she realized they stopped outside the doorway to Brennan's nursery. Taking a deep breath, she lifted her sidearm and nudged the door open with her foot.

It was just as she remembered, and the stabbing pain of loss took her by surprise. She furiously blinked away the tears and moved into the nursery to find a puddle of drying blood on the wood floor.

Cole moved past her to crouch beside the puddle of blood. He reached out a hand to seize a knife embedded in the wall. He sucked in a surprised breath when Paige yanked the curtains open, bathing the room in bright light.

There were two things scrawled on the wall in blood, the hand that wrote them shake, suggesting she'd either been mostly unconscious or had to write with her left hand.

"What does that say?" he whispered, shocked.

Paige leaned down and ran her fingers over the words. "YED Salvation," she explained, a puzzled frown tilting her brow. The next was more puzzling. All it said was _AZAZ_.

Cole cleared his throat. "YED could stand for Yellow Eyed Demon," he said, pointing at it.

_No shit, Sherlock_, Paige mentally snipped. "Where's Connie?" she wondered, looking around. The knife was Connie's, yes. But it appeared that whoever had attacked her had taken her, and she'd only had time to leave these two brief messages, one of them obviously unfinished, before they blew half her house to bits. But that was it: it was just the house.

Connie was gone.

For how long remained the question.

Cole pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed a number, holding it up to his ear.

"Who are you calling?" she demanded, taking a step towards him, hand poised to yank it from his grasp.

His blue eyes met hers, startling her with their intensity. Something swirled in them, an emotion she couldn't identify, but if she wanted to get as close as possible it would be desperation. "My brother is in Ohio," he said, the intensity of his tone making his voice shake.

"Noah?" she whispered, glancing to the wall.

"I have to warn him."

Paige ignored the sudden increased beating of her heart. She reached out to rest her hand on the top of Cole's head, ignoring the way he froze in shock under her touch. "Tell him to watch his back," she said softly. "Don't worry, Cole. He's tough. Noah always makes it through."

Cole squeezed his eyes shut. "I hope you're right," he whispered. The trust between them may be nonexistent, but the love they shared for Noah was common ground enough for him. He'd protect her to his death – not because he enjoyed her company, not because he liked her, not because he wanted to, but because his big brother had asked him to.

There was nothing he wouldn't do for his brother.

The FBI office picked up.

"Supervisory Special Agent Noah Clayborne, please," he said matter-of-factly.

His eyes met Paige's, and they shared a slight smile. No matter the Conclave's motive, Noah would do the right thing, and both of them knew that with utmost certainty. As far as he was concerned, Noah was a saint – it stemmed from the classic Little-brother-worships-big-brother syndrome. He trusted Noah to do whatever was necessary, no matter the consequences.

Without even flinching.

* * *

**Columbus, Ohio  
**July 29, 2006  
Abandoned warehouse

Noah grunted as he was flung across the warehouse like a sack of grain, slamming into the metal wall and sliding down to land in a heap behind a pile of old boxes. "Son of a bitch!" he wheezed, scrambling back to his feet as he desperately tried to get his breath back.

"NOAH!"

"Fine," he called back, praying to God that Michael wouldn't do anything shit stupid like he always did. "Stay there!"

Another yell of pain echoed as the team leader Corey Daniels was flung across the warehouse to hit the wall in precisely the same spot as Noah had, landing in a heap in precisely the same manner. Noah was suddenly very glad he'd had the sense to scramble forward to the boxes.

Corey coughed, brushing dirt out of his eyes as he rolled over and crawled beside Noah. "Ouch," he coughed, trying to get air back into his traumatized lungs.

"This is getting _really _old, Daniels," Noah growled, chambering a round in his sidearm as he crouched against the boxes for support. "This sonuvabitch isn't going to tell us a goddamn thing."

"I'm aware of that," Daniels snapped, ducking as Michael flew over the boxes to land face-first in the dirt behind them.

"Hey, Mikey," Noah quipped, pulling his partner forward. "I thought I told you not to do anything stupid."

"I was _trying _to push the damn thing into the Devil's Trap," Michael snapped, shoving his gun back into his holster. Damn thing was bloody useless against this bad boy. Naturally, the damn thing was shooting guns _and _tossing them into walls, which was just freakin' lovely.

"One of the Demon's cronies, I'd guess," said Noah, peeking around the edge of the box to see the other half of their team pinned and exchanging fire with the demon. The demon in question was a relatively unassuming man with crazy eyes and a mad cackle that had yet to cease. Creepy as hell.

"What about a Mog?" Michael suggested hopefully.

Noah looked at him as if he'd just announced he was John Newbern in disguise. "Do you _want _to die?" he demanded, exasperated.

"It was just an idea," he defended himself. "It worked last time!"

"With a _Somali army_, you moron, not a pissed-to-high-hell demon!"

"It can't be pissed to high hell, Noah, he's already _out _of hell," Michael pointed out.

Noah resisted the urge to punch him. "Focus, Mikey," he growled, snapping his fingers and pointing at the ground. "That was then, this was now."

"I still think a Mog could work."

Daniels glanced back and forth between his two agents. "What's Mog?" he demanded.

"Mogadishu. Military thing," the duo said in unison, not even looking at him.

"You think?" Noah demanded, sighing.

"I think," Michael confirmed, nodding firmly.

"Fine," he grumbled, pulling his sidearm up. "Don't try anything heroic."

Michael peered around the boxes. The demon currently had its back to them, about four feet to the left of the Devils' Trap they'd created on the ceiling of the warehouse as well as in clear paint on the warehouse floor. He looked to Noah and nodded, leaping out from behind cover as he barreled top speed at the demon, tackling it around the waist and shoving it into the Devil's Trap.

Noah leapt out, firing shots to keep the thing pinned. Michael disarmed it and was now trying to move out of the Devil's Trap where the thing couldn't get at him. He was relieved that it had actually WORKED this time. That relief faded to horror while he watched in slow motion as the demon lifted a Glock and pointed it at Michael's head.

He acted on pure instinct, leaping forward.

A shot echoed through the warehouse as Corey yanked the gun from the demon's hand and knocked it out, the demon crumpling to the floor, trapped in the Devil's Trap for good. He spun, grinning for their victory, to find elation replaced by horror. Michael was pale with shock, hands pressing over a blooming red spot through Noah's body armor.

Corey frantically checked the chamber of the sidearm – armor-piercing rounds. He cussed as he ran over to his agents, watching Michael pull Noah into his lap. "Get an EMT here ASAP!" he yelled through his earpiece.

Michael had tears leaking down his face. "Noah, stay with me," he pleaded as Noah's eyes drooped half-shut. He pressed harder on the wound, sickened by the think, warm blood oozing between his fingers to coat his hands.

"'m fine, you idiot," Noah mumbled, hand gripping Michael's wrist. Sirens sounded outside. His eyes were dilated, face screwed up from the pain. "Hurts like a sonuvabitch."

He laughed shakily, swiping tears from his cheeks as the puddle of blood grew larger, pooling around Noah's giant body. "Just don't move."

Noah nodded. A slight gasp escaped, his vision fading.

"NOAH!"

His hand thumped limply to the pavement in the puddle of his own blood.

* * *

**E/N**: Aaaaaaaaaaaaand the mystery man has a face!

One or two left! Can't decide! Sorry for the long wait, but I FINALLY got my laptop back! :D

Hope you enjoyed. As always,  
**REVIEWS=LOVE**


	37. Chapter 37

**A/N:** Third to last. Almost there!

_Note_: I fudged up a bit. It should be Salvation, IOWA not Ohio. *head desk* I do that a lot, I apologize. For some reason I get my states flip-flopped occasionally. My bad. Please ignore the minor discrepancy. It's fixed in this chappie. The dates are a little confuzzling, I know. Just bear with me!

This is the third-to-last chapter. Second-to-last is done and in the editing process. Expect that by Wed/Thurs. The last chapter is already ¾ finished and will likely be posted Friday/Saturday. I finally know how I'm finishing this story, and will move on to the second.

I'm sorry for taking so long but RL really kicked me in the butt for a while there, as did writers block and plot bunnies. I killed the block and caged the bunnies, so I'm good now.

Get me ten reviews, and I'll message you all a teaser for the finale to hold you over. ;)

**Disclaimer**: Supernatural and all related characters belong to Eric Kripke. My characters belong to me. Steal them and die, people.

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Seven  
**Our Lives Suck

**Inbound to Manning, CO  
**July 26, 2006

Dean sipped the scalding coffee without comment, eyes on the road, lost in thought. His fingers had been drumming in tune with Iron Maiden for the past twenty minutes, the tapping the only other sound in the vehicle besides the band belting out "Run to the Hills". He chewed his lip absently, mentally working through the situation facing them once they arrived in Manning.

"Dean," Sam said suddenly, breaking the silence.

"Hmm," Dean grunted, glancing over at him, not pausing the tapping or the chewing on his lip. He raised an eyebrow when Sam's mammoth frame squirmed uneasily in his seat. Interest suddenly peaked, Dean put his coffee in the cup holder. "Dude, spill."

Sam glanced over at him, brushing his mop-like hair out of his eyes. He continued to fidget, searching for some intelligent way to put the question to his older brother without coming off too "firing squad". That unnerving green gaze wasn't helping matters much.

_Suck it up and spit it out, Winchester_, he mentally ordered, taking a deep breath. "Dean, are you in a cult?"

Dean blinked.

Not exactly the reaction Sam had been hoping for. He studied Dean's expression intently, waiting for something, anything, to flicker on his face. Dean, it seemed, wasn't done surprising him.

He burst out laughing.

"Dean, this is so _not _funny," Sam protested hotly.

Still chortling, Dean flapped his hand. "Did you just ask me if I'm in a Cult, or did I fall asleep?" he wondered aloud, eyes dancing with mirth.

Sam just glowered at him, crossing his arms. "Don't try to laugh this one off," he said threateningly. "I _saw _your creepy ass meeting with all those old hunters. I _read _the journals. Something was always off but I could never figure it out – the connection between you and the Newbern family. It's this 'Brotherhood' thing that you all are so secretive about. Well, secret is out now, Dean. I _know_. So don't you start treating me like a little kid!" He paused for breath, angered more by Dean's impassive expression – Dean didn't even look a _little _surprised! "Honestly, Dean, how could you lie all this time about this? I mean, come on! You joined a freakin' Cult and didn't seem fit to _tell _me about it?"

As all older brothers eventually learn, it was better to let younger siblings finish their little hissy fits before interfering, so Dean did exactly that. The moment Sam paused to take in another deep breath, he set about correcting his little brother – the job he'd held since the age of four.

"It's not a Cult," he said point-blank. Brad _had _given him permission to tell him the truth… or the glossed-over version of it, anyway. "It's a group of hunters all dedicated to the same cause." He ran a hand through his hair, slightly worried at Sam's sudden silence, blowing out a frustrated breath as he tried to figure out what he could tell him and what he couldn't. "Look, the Brotherhood has existed for a long, long time. You make it seem like we're a band of assassins or something. We're not."

"Then what_ are _you?" Sam demanded harshly.

"An information network, mostly," said Dean honestly. "There are hundreds of hunters in this country alone. The Brotherhood is a means to transport information to hunters at every corner of the country. The Informants – retired hunters or older hunters like Bobby – gather information, do research, find hunts and hand them out to younger guys. The hunters do the hunts, bring back the information, where it's documented to give to the _next _hunter who comes across the same problem. There's designated safe houses, I suppose you could call them, all across the country, places – mostly bars – where hunters can gather to swap information or put in an inquiry to the Informant running the bar."

"I still don't understand how you got involved in all of this."

"I wasn't the first. Dad was."

Sam was still confused. "Elaborate?" he pushed. "How did dad even find these people?"

"Easy," Dean replied. His eyes took on a faraway look, one Sam knew well – Dean was about to talk about Mom and what had happened to her. "When mom died" – Sam had totally called that one – "Dad went off his rocker a little bit. He _literally _went insane, Sam, he was so desperate for retaliation, for revenge. He went bumbling blindly into a world he did not understand. The hunting world caught wind of what had happened – the Demon was nothing new, not exactly – and knew that eventually dad would learn the truth. Before the Brotherhood stepped in, Dad somehow stumbled upon Bobby Singer, a hunter in the Brotherhood. Bobby took dad under his wing and taught him everything he knew.

"That's the way it works in the brotherhood. For many families, its tradition, a way of life, like it is for Paige's. New hunters are paired with an elder, more experienced hunter – like Bobby did for dad. Hunters link into the Brotherhood upon their own free will, but keep the back channels open for communication should the Conclave call together a group of skilled hunters to go after a certain target, say, a vampire nest or something like that," Dean finished.

Sam mulled this information over. Still sounded like a Cult to him…mostly. Put that way, though, it sounded more like a…a…secret society, or an organized band of soldiers, or something. He was really too tired to care at the moment. All that mattered was that his brother wasn't crazy.

Mostly.

"Can I join?"

Dean started and glanced over at his brother, abruptly going serious when he realized Sam wasn't kidding. "Do…do you _want_ to?" he said hesitantly, surprised by the notion.

"It might be a good idea to be a part of the information network," Sam pointed out practically. "We both know I do all the research."

"Not _all_ of it," Dean argued hotly.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Okay, Dean. _Most_ of it."

Now this was awkward, Dean noted. To obey the Conclave, or to disobey the Conclave, that was the question… he sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair. "Look," he said diplomatically. "I'm under orders to not tell you everything but I told you everything anyway. I'll see what I can do. Needless to say, being married to the daughter and granddaughter of two members of the Conclave does have its advantages."

"Does that mean you don't trust me?"

"No, Sam. It means they don't."

Not sure how to respond, Sam just tried to not be too put out. They passed the Manning sign – they were here, finally.

Time to hunt the demon.

* * *

**Salvation, Iowa  
**July 28, 2006

Dean surveyed the room, sharp eyes taking in every little detail. The walls were plastered with maps, pictures, news articles… all scribbled on in his dad's handwriting. The information hopped from state to state, until it all looked like one giant, jumbled mess.

To an untrained eye, anyway.

His eyes saw what would look like gibberish to others – signs of demonic activity, electrical storms, demonic possessions, sulfur traces, articles of houses burning to the ground, pictures from all different cultures about the demon they hunted or legends relating to it. It all looked like mumbo-jumbo, but in reality, was a sophisticated demon tracking system.

To say the least he was astounded his dad had even figured out how to track a demon like this. It was incredible. He'd never seen anything like it. No wonder his nickname in the Brotherhood was "Tracker".

"This is it," John announced, sweeping a hand across the circumference of the room. "This is all I got."

Dean listened intently while John ran over the particulars of the demon, tracking it, finding the signs… about the sixth month birthday. Ice curled in his gut at that as he frantically searched his memory for what he and Paige had been doing on Sammy's sixth-month birthday. Nothing had happened. They'd been at home, demon-proof, meaning their son was safe.

Sam looked like he was choking. "I was sixth months old that night?" he said, surprised.

"Exactly six months."

"So this is my fault? Mom, Jess… it happened because of me?"

Oh, here we go again, Dean mentally growled. "Sam," he said. "It was not your fault."

He sometimes wished he had a bell like in a boxing ring to cue round 1 of the Winchester Hash Out. At this point, though, he should probably just get a fire hose to spray them down with.

Before they could start throwing punches, he intervened.

As it turned out, dads and little brothers were a pain in the ass.

XXX

Dean rubbed his face and stripped out of his outermost jacket, tossing it on Sam's bed. Sam was out hunting for coffee, a good thing, too, because he was exhausted.

"Dean."

He jumped and spun to squint at his dad, perched at the table scanning his laptop screen.

"Yeah, dad?" he mumbled, trying to determine what time it was but not finding a clock. He wondered if it was too late to call home and say goodnight as he absently patted his pockets searching for his phone, currently AWOL.

"Congratulations on the baby."

That got Dean's attention as he silently thanked his dad. Paige wouldn't be happy if he called and woke up Jace, anyway. He straightened and crossed his arms, tucking his hands against his body to warm them. "Thanks," he said with a heartfelt smile.

"How did you come up with the name?"

"It's an acronym," Dean murmured, yawning sleepily. "J for John, A for Allyson, C for Christopher, and E for Elliot. And Bradley after Brad, obviously."

John's lips curled into a soft smile. "I like it," he said honestly.

"Thanks."

"You named him after me."

"I figured it was only right," Dean said as he dropped to the end of his bed and removed his boots. "If it was a girl the middle name would have been Mary."

Sadness enveloped the gnarled hunter's face and Dean almost regretted bringing it up. Almost. "If we ever have a girl, dad," Dean said confidently. "Her middle name will be Mary. I would name her Mary, but it just, it doesn't…" he trailed off, running a hand through his hair in frustration as he sought the proper phrase.

"Feel right," John supplied. "Cursed."

Dean was relieved his dad could read his mind so well when he was tired. "Yeah," he agreed. "Here, I have something for you." He dug in his bag for his wallet and pulled it out, handing his dad the three pictures he'd been unable to send him.

John's callused fingers ran gently over the contours of his newborn grandson's face, wishing he could be there in person to hold the infant. It had been so long, so very long since he had seen something that small and pure and innocent. The baby was beautiful, but then, it didn't surprise him. Dean and Sam had been beautiful babies, too. He suspected that was from Mary's side of the family.

There were three pictures tucked safely away inside his palm. One of Levi, beaming at the camera, so very much like Sam at the same age, Ally's brown eyes sparkling with happiness out of his young face. The second of Dean's boys, the Blonde Boys he secretly called them, Owen cradling the infant Jace delicately in his five-year-old arms and looking proud as punch that he'd been trusted to do so, Sammy and Brody sitting on either side of him beaming in their white collared shirts, blue jeans, and bare feet. The third was of all his grandchildren, grinning at the camera while perched an old looking wooden bench in the ranch's front field. He would cherish the pictures forever, holding them close to his heart.

Through thick and thin his boys had turned out alright.

He couldn't have possibly been prouder of them.

Sam returned with a bag of coffee that Dean immediately snagged, making a beeline for the coffeemaker and dumping almost half the bag into the filter. He ignored John's amused chuckle and Sam's snort of amusement. Let them laugh at his caffeine addiction. It wasn't quite as funny when he was running on empty and doing his best interpretation of a grizzly bear, which he knew from experience, was only a few hours away from his current state.

"Let's talk about this year," John suggested, prompting both of them to look at him.

Dean and Sam exchanged glances.

"There's lots to tell," Dean warned, finger poised over the START BREW button.

"We've got some time."

Christ. Dean stabbed the button with his index finger and leaned against the counter, pouring himself a cup when it was done before sitting on the opposite side of the room.

This was going to be an awkward conversation.

XXX

Dean cradled his coffee cup in silence, watching his dad thump down to the mattress in shock, hands clasped before his face. Sam was at the table, rubbing his hands over his forehead in an effort to quell the headache that Dean knew wouldn't fade for a long, long time. Most of the time he pretended Sam didn't have this… _handicap_… and ignored the elephant in the room. But when the elephant decided to sit on you, goddamn it was uncomfortable.

"A _vision_?" John repeated, incredulous. He sounded as if he was starting to realize that this was not, in fact, a joke, and that his son was a psychic.

"Yes," Sam bit out, frustrated. If only the pounding would go away, he could think clearly. He could figure this out and stop the demon before something really, really bad happened. "I saw the Demon, burning a woman on the ceiling," he elaborated, furiously rubbing his eyes now. The pain refused to relent.

John was far from convinced, expression doubtful. "And you think this is going to happen to this woman because…?" He spread his hands helplessly.

Sam wanted to yell and hit someone, preferably his dad. Why did he always have to _question _everything! Why couldn't just _try _to understand without poking and prodding everything to death! It was maddening!

"Because," he said clearly, "these things happen _exactly _the way I see them." His eyes met Dean's across the room, and even though Dean wasn't telepathic, he unleashed his best _HELP ME _look, willing his brother to understand. He needn't have worried. Dean always understood.

Resigning himself to the awkward as hell conversation they were about to have –he silently hoped the 'blame game' wouldn't start again, it irritated the hell out of him when they did that– he downed the last of his coffee and stood. "It's true," he said, backing up the baby brother as always. "It started out as nightmares, and then…he started having them when he was _awake_." Sam was frustrated and his dad was brooding at the wall. _Kill me now… I need more coffee_, he thought, heading to the pot for round two.

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "It's like…" he stopped to rephrase, willing his dad to get this. "I don't know, it's like, every time I get closer to the Demon, the stronger the visions get."

John knew it then, knew it as surely as breathing. The Brotherhood's worst fear was true after all. He steeled himself and focused on his youngest son, hearing the muted agony in Sam's voice. Emotions swirled within him, making his head spin. Focusing on anger was the easiest, so he did just that and rounded on his eldest, needing something to vent his frustrations at.

"Alright, when were you going to tell me about this?" he said loudly.

Dean paused in pouring his cup, anger flaring through him before he could stomp down the flame. Keeping his temper in check, he forced his voice calm. "We didn't know what it meant."

Didn't know what it meant? Excuse, excuse, excuse, John internally chanted. "Something like this starts happening to your brother," he snapped in a voice as cold and unbending as steel, "you pick up the phone and you CALL ME."

"Call you?" Dean repeated, incredulous.

Sam stopped rubbing his eyes, suddenly worried that they were about to go Rambo on each other.

"Are you kidding me?" he continued, moving to stand between Sam and John, his default place in the family. "Dad, I called you when I was getting married. I called you when my son was born. I called from _Lawrence_." His voice rose in volume, as cold and unbending as his dad's. "Sam called you when I was _dying_. Getting you on the phone, I've got a better chance of winning the lottery!"

_Awkward family moment_, Sam thought, dropping his gaze to the table. Any other time he would have laughed at his dad's expression of shock at the fact Dean was rebelling instead of him for a change, but this was too serious. Out of his peripheral vision he observed them glaring at each other, before finally, his dad dropped his gaze and sighed, rubbing his stubbled face.

"You're right," John said softly, no heat in his tone now, only wariness. Dean leaned away in shock at his admittance, looking as if he thought his dad had just sprouted a second head. "And while I'm not crazy about this new tone of yours… I'm sorry."

Ooooookay, time to get back on topic. Sam went to raise his hand and thought better of it, deciding to just speak up instead. "Look, guys – visions or no visions, this thing is coming _tonight_. And this family is going to go through the same hell we went through."

"No, they won't," John promised calmly. "I won't let them."

Sam's phone rang. He smiled in faint apology before pulling it out and answering, expecting it to be Ally. "Hello?" he said calmly.

"Sam?"

He froze. The voice was familiar…he scanned through his memory, searching for a name and face to attach to it. "Who is this?"

"Think real hard…it will come to you…"

Ah. Of course. Just bloody perfect. "Meg," he growled. Dean and John were at attention immediately, faces dropping into nearly twin scowls. Talk about being able to cut tension with a knife… "The last time I saw you, you were falling out of a window."

"That really hurt my feelings you know."

"Just your feelings?" he scoffed. "That was a seven story drop."

"Let me talk to your dad, Sam."

And for the millionth time in his short life, the shit hit the fan.

* * *

**Salmon Lake, Montana**  
July 29, 2006

Paige couldn't help but notice how thick and soft the younger man's hair was. So blonde it was nearly white, it reminded her in some distant way of her baby sister's curly locks, back before the shit had hit the fan and her family had been torn apart. She knew he didn't like to be touched, but could sense that he needed the support while he tried to get Noah on the phone.

Noah _had_ to be okay, he just had to. Throughout childhood he'd weathered broken limbs, bruises, fractures, black eyes, and sprained ankles without so much as a flinch. Noah Clayborne wasn't an easy man to kill, he'd proven that during his years in the military and now in the FBI. She knew where each bullet had pierced his body, could point to each scar blindfolded and recite the weapon that had fired it, the size of the bullet, the nature of the wound, the size of the scar, and how long each recovery had taken. Noah had been as much as a big brother to her as her own brother had, remained one still.

She felt when Cole went utterly tense, body rippling with tension. "When?" he growled into the phone, standing up so abruptly he almost knocked her over. He clicked the phone shut and threw it savagely into the forest, swearing non-stop under his breath.

"Cole, what is it?" she demanded, grabbing his shoulder to spin him around.

Cole's fist clipped the point of her chin as she ducked, shocked by his attack.

"Shut up and let me _think_ you stupid wh––"

Paige punched him on the nose, hard enough to get his attention but not hard enough to break bone. "Finish that sentence, I dare you," she growled, shoving him back against a tree. "What is going on?"

"Nothing that concerns you," he snarled back viciously, a dangerous light entering his eyes. It was a mix of something she'd never seen on his face before: anger, desperation, and panic. "Get out of my face."

"Or what? You'll hit me?"

"Don't tempt me." Cole shoved her back. "Ever since you dropped those kids––"

"You have a death wish," Paige cut him off. "My kids have nothing to do with this."

"Not much of a hunter anymore, though, are you?" Cole sneered. "Pretty useless, if you ask me."

"I did my time," she said quietly. "I sweated and bled and cried, same as anyone." She stepped away from him. "At least I'm not like you, Cole Clayborne. All you care about is making yourself look better."

"This from the woman with a traitor husband."

Paige clenched her hands into fists. "Quite frankly, I'm at a loss as to how such an overweening bastard could be related to someone as incredible as your brother. You don't deserve him." She shouldered her backpack and glared at him. "What's wrong with Noah?"

"Why do you even care? All you care about is your stupid whore of a half-demon friend!"

Angry tears pricked the back of her eyes. "Where is he? What _happened_, damn you?"

"You don't deserve to know."

"Cole!"

The angry young man rounded on her, teeth bared in a threatening growl, making him seem feral. A part of him knew he would live to regret this moment, that his brother would render him limb from limb, but he didn't care. The roaring emotions demanded release, even if it meant hurting her.

"Shut up and leave me alone," he snarled viciously, shoving her.

She stepped out of his reach, betrayal and pain flashing deep in her eyes. "Go to hell, Cole," she whispered, muted agony in her voice. She would just have to find out herself.

"You first, bitch," Cole snapped.

And vanished. Just like Connie, without even a sound. One second he was there, the next, he was gone.

"Seriously?" she said aloud, staring around. "Him, too?"

She turned her eyes up to the sky, beyond annoyed. It had to be some sort of cosmic joke.

Fear curled in her gut like acid. Something was wrong with Noah, something bad judging by Cole's reaction. She'd kill him later, now, she needed to get the powers that be on the gosh darn phone and figure out what had happened or if he was even alive, the mere thought nearly ripping her in two. She wasted no time hurrying back to her car and driving as fast as possible back to Wyoming.

All the while plotting just exactly how she was going to castrate the pompous asshole… with a spoon.

Because spoons were dull…and they would hurt more.

A _lot _more.

Paige smirked at the lesson and sent a mental note to her friend, wherever she may be. If she was even _alive_.

_Thanks for that, Connie._

* * *

**Thunder Creek, WY  
**July 29, 2006

A day and a half away from her babies was a day and a half too many. Relief enveloped her as she pulled into Red Hill Ranch just after sunset. She parked her Yukon beside Jared's truck as the front door flew open and Owen and Sammy raced out, megawatt grins firmly in place. Laughing, she scooped them both up and swung them around, pressing happy kisses to the tops of their heads.

"Hey, guys," she said cheerfully. Internally, she was churning with worry for the resident Bullet Magnet, also known as Noah Clayborne. "Did you miss me?"

"How was Montana?" Owen chirped, grinning up at her.

"Hot," she replied, tweaking his nose. "Did you ride today?"

Owen grinned and nodded. "Jared let me barrel race," he beamed.

Jared appeared and leaned his hip against the doorway, grinning his I'm-a-sexy-cowboy grin. "It's true," he drawled shamelessly, winking. "He did great, too. Patch is a bullet around those things, and that munchkin is a natural."

Paige mounted the steps as she swung Sammy to her hip. "Thanks for watching them, Jare," she said, stepping gratefully into his embrace. "Where's Rachel?"

"California for a friend's wedding. I couldn't leave the ranch, so she went reluctantly without me," said Jared, swinging the door shut behind them as he followed her to the kitchen, hoisting the giggling Owen up onto his back. "The boys were good." He grinned. "Spending time with Jace was good practice for me. Sooner than later, Ryder will be here and I'll be as sleep deprived as you are."

"Don't sound so cheerful about it," Paige grinned, kissing Sammy's cheek and hugging him tight before lowering him back to the ground. "Sammy, why don't you and Owen go pick out a movie to watch?"

The boys raced off to do just that, leaving her and Jared alone in the kitchen. All pretense of cheerfulness dropped, hunting faces firmly in place.

"Michael called," Jared said.

"Something's wrong with Noah," Paige said at the exact same time.

They stared at each other before sighing and palming their faces, trying in vain to calm down. "You first," Jared said, waving his hand.

"I was with Cole up in Montana at Connie's place," Paige said quickly, condensing her most recent adventure as quickly as she could. "There was nothing there, no one. Someone blew up half her house and a blood trail led to the nursery. Two words carved in the wall: Salvation and AZAZ. That's it." She blew out a breath. "Cole called Noah to warn him, saying that Noah was in Salvation on a case. He went stiff and lost his mind." She gestured at her chin. "Punched me and vanished." Anger tilted her brow. "Apparently, the little bastard can teleport like Connie can, and how the hell can he do that, by the way?" Her attention snapped back so abruptly it almost gave him whiplash. "So, I concluded that Noah must be gravely injured, because why _else _would Cole be freaking out, since he obviously wasn't having a bad hair day and had no dirt under his fingernails. I've been trying to get someone on the line all day, but all I'm getting is voicemails."

Jared's question as to why exactly Cole was there was answered with the teleport comment that momentarily stunned him. He thought about it for a moment, guessing it was likely the Conclave had sent him as a sort of bodyguard or to funnel them information. Probably both. "Connie is missing still, I assume?"

Paige nodded tiredly, rubbing her face as she sat on a barstool, waiting for him to mentally work through everything.

"Cole can teleport, something called AZAZ or pertaining to AZAZ is happening in Salvation, Iowa – which is the current location of Dean, Sam, Michael, Noah, and the rest of the FBI team – that Connie possibly died to warn us about, and to put the icing on the cake, something happened to Noah," Jared said, lifting a finger for each he listed off.

"Correct."

"Well, shit," Jared sighed, sitting beside her. "Have I ever mentioned how much our lives suck?"

"Only sometimes," Paige countered, whipping out her cell phone. "I have to alert the Conclave and warn my grandfather that Cole possibly went rogue and might be teleporting around madly on some homicidal rampage," she explained while she dialed her dad's number. "How the hell can he do that, by the way?"

"Maybe it's connected to the Demon somehow," Jared mused aloud. "Noah's mom died when he was eight and Amanda was four. Cole was just a baby."

It had been before Paige's time here in Wyoming, so she didn't know the details. "How did she die again?" she wondered as she drummed her fingers on the island counter.

"Fire," he said immediately. "It started in the nursery and…" he trailed off, eyes going wide. "Oh," he breathed as it clicked into place.

"The Demon," Paige concluded, feeling like she'd just been hit with a ton of bricks. She shoved the phone at him, suddenly unable to stomach the thought of planning battle with the Conclave. "Here, you talk to my dad. I'm going to try and get Michael on the phone."

Jared quickly explained the situation to Brad, going into as much detail as he could while keeping the story as condensed as possible for easy recall. He knew for a fact there would be an emergency meeting called tonight. By the time he'd finished, Paige was cussing under her breath. He guessed Michael's phone was going straight to voicemail.

Cole wasn't picking up, either, and Noah's phone went straight to voicemail, too.

Paige gripped the phone tightly in her hand as tears pooled in her eyes. "I'm scared, Jared," she whispered as he drew her into his side. "What's happening?"

"Chaos," he replied, dropping a kiss to the top of her head. "Let's just get through this movie and put the kids to bed."

"It's going to be a long night," she whispered, but did as he suggested, keeping on a brave face while they watched Robots and tucked the kids into bed. After that she wasn't sure what to do, so she sat on the end of her and Dean's bed and rubbed her eyes.

Jared entered, dressed in grey sweat pants and an old football T-shirt. He sat beside her and ran a hand through his hair. "Did you try the numbers again?" he asked.

"Yeah," Paige murmured, glaring down at her phone. "I left voicemails. All we can do now is wait. There's no other way to get a hold of them."

Neither was thrilled with the prospect. Jared studied his cousin, down to the dark circles under her eyes and her haggard expression. The stress was starting to take a toll. He reached up to gently run his index finger over the dark rim, concern in his eyes.

"You aren't sleeping well," he said gently. "Why?"

Paige smiled wryly and turned her head to study him in turn. "Neither are you," she informed him, reaching out to run her finger over the identical dark rim under each of his eyes.

Indifferent, he shrugged. "I don't sleep well when I'm alone," he said, a fact she already knew.

"Neither do I," she reminded him. Exhaustion was creeping up on her. "I'm tired, though." She thought about it for a moment. "Stay?"

"Of course," Jared said instantly, moving to stand but freezing when her hand shot out to grasp his wrist. "I'll go settle myself in the guest bedroom."

She shook her head and pulled him down next to her. "Here," she said firmly. "I think we both need the comfort." She tugged him down next to her and threaded her fingers through his. Jared smiled faintly, eyes very gray in the half-darkness.

"He'll be okay," he whispered.

"I know," she whispered back.

While they waited, they fell asleep, enveloped in soothing darkness. For now, they could have peace, as both knew their world could soon go up in smoke.

Literally.

XXX

Paige jerked awake at the phone's shrilling ring, sitting bolt upright, aware of Jared doing the same beside her. Disoriented, she waved her hand around like a blind person until she found the light switch and clicked it, warm golden light bathing the room to reveal Jared's pale face, probably as pale as her own.

She snatched the phone off the nightstand and held it to her ear, suddenly fearful. Was it Dean? Sam? Her dad? Cole? Noah?

"Hello?" she croaked, clearing her throat, heart thumping unevenly.

"Is this Paige Winchester?" a masculine voice inquired.

"That would depend on who's asking," she said automatically, aware of Jared's hand gripping her knee.

"This is Supervisory Special Agent Corey Daniels of the Federal Bureau of Investigation's Behavioral Analysis Unit based out of Denver," the man said formally all in one breath. Impressive.

Paige blinked and digested the words. Oh, right. Rational thought kinda needed. "That's quite a title, Agent Daniels," she said, rubbing her eyes. She'd met him before, when Noah had dragged his team to random family functions. She recognized the name but couldn't place a face. "How may I help you?"

"I apologize for the early ring, Miss, but I have news regarding Noah Clayborne."

"Why can't he call himself?" she demanded, voice sounding strangled even to her own ears. When he didn't answer immediately, panic gripped her. "Is he okay? How hurt is he? Where is he?"

"Whoa, whoa, he's fine," Daniels said quickly. "I should have opened with that, I apologize." She heard him sigh heavily and snap at a mumbled voice in the background. "My team was in a bit of an altercation with a second party. Agent Clayborne–"

The sounds of a scuffle followed by Daniels' irritated growl made her tense, until the voice she'd been worrying over spoke in her ear.

"Is fine," Noah drawled groggily. "Heya, sweet cheeks, I got shot."

Blunt much? Jesus! "Shot," she repeated in a growl. "Where? How bad?"

"Shoulder," he replied. "I was in surgery for a while but I'm outta the woods now. They wouldn't let me call anyone until I was in recovery." His voice was suddenly muffled, probably meaning he had his hand over the receiver. "Whoa, buddy. Talkin' to a lady friend, here. You get that needle the fuck away from me before I snap it off and stab it through your eye!" he snarled menacingly.

Paige snorted softly, suddenly immensely relieved. That was the Noah she knew, intimidating people to do his whim. She released a shaky breath and ran a hand through her disheveled hair.

"I'm back." Noah's voice was more cheerful than it had been a moment ago. Apparently, scaring people was his happy medicine. She couldn't say it surprised her, because it sure as heck didn't. Noah was huge, intimidating, and had a glare fit enough to split a tree trunk. A large tree trunk. So, naturally, he loved looming over people to make them feel tiny.

"Noah David Clayborne, you need to learn how to goddamn duck properly!" she scolded, voice cracking like a whip. She knew he winced, he always did when she flipped out on him. Her eyes watered slightly, prompting her to rub at them angrily with one hand. "Based on Cole's reaction, I actually thought you were dead for a minute there."

"Nah," Noah assured her flippantly, totally unbothered by the situation. "Gonna take more than some stupid bullet to keep me down."

She sighed in defeat and leaned against Jared, putting the phone on speaker. "Where are you, you big idiot?" she wondered.

"Salvation, Iowa. They're flying me up to Cheyenne at my request now that I'm stable. The doctor is pissed I'm leaving, but piss on him, I want to go home." Noah inhaled sharply, a sign of pain or surprise, she couldn't tell. "No, god damn it, I _don't _want any morphine!" he huffed, pissed off. Switching abruptly back to their conversation, he sounded normal again. "I'll be in Cheyenne by nine this morning. Come and get me?"

As if she could ignore the pleading tone in his voice.

"Of course," said Paige warily. "So, is Cole there?"

"Yeah, why?"

"You should warn him that when I see him, I'm going to first beat him to a bloody pulp, and then tie him to a flagpole and castrate him with a very, _very_ dull spoon," she said casually, as if discussing the weather.

"Yeah," Noah sighed, not the least bit concerned. His tone took on a wistful note. "I can't wait to get my arm back so I can strangle him. Instead of freaking out on you, he should have just told you and teleported you here, too. It would have made the whole mess a lot easier to deal with."

"I know," Paige agreed, rubbing her chin. "Get some sleep, Noah. I'll see you in a few hours."

"'Kay," he agreed, sounding sleepy.

"And Noah?"

"Mmm?"

"I'm glad you're okay."

"Thanks." He sighed heavily. "I'll see you and Jare in a little bit." Neither were surprised that the giant knew Jared was sitting next to her. He had an odd sixth sense for that sort of stuff. "I have to go. Daniels and Nurse Chuckie are about to strangle me and I need both hands to defend myself."

"Okay. Goodnight," her and Jared said in unison.

The line went dead.

"Well, that's a relief," Jared mumbled, clicking the light back off and collapsing to the pillows.

"Now I need my idiot of a husband to call," Paige sighed as she curled into a ball on her side, facing away from her cousin. He scooted towards her until their backs were touching, the contact comforting. The only two people in the world she would ever feel completely safe with in the dark were Dean and Jared, that much she knew.

"He will," Jared murmured, punctuating the statement with a yawn. "Go back to sleep, sweet cheeks."

"Don't call me sweet cheeks," she mumbled sleepily, already halfway there.

Jared's soft chuckle filled the room, fading to them both dropping back into an exhausted slumber.

* * *

E/N: There it is. I decided to split this one into 2 because I was getting my thoughts all scrambled up in a jar. So, the next half should be out day after tomorrow, just got to re-arrange to fit the timeline.

**REVIEWS=LOVE  
**A review will getcha a sneak peak of the next one! :D


	38. Chapter 38

**A/N**: And here it is, the last and final chapter (I know I said it wasn't but heck, it was too short so I just squished the two together). *tear* It's been a long year. I had no idea when I started this that it would end up being so _long_. It's heart-wrenching to say goodbye to this.

To my reviewers – you are the light of my universe. I love you all and respect you greatly for offering me your input, thoughts, opinions, and support throughout this entire process. You weren't afraid to call me out on stuff you didn't like, you weren't afraid to question my methods, and you certainly weren't afraid to clearly express the best and worst parts of this learning process. To all of you, thank you to the ends of the earth! I send love to you all! Without you, this story wouldn't be here. I hope you continue with me to the sequel.

To my readers – all of you are awesome. I can only hope that this story touched your heart; that it made you laugh, made you cry, and at times, made you want to kill something (or more specifically, me :P). Thank you for reading this. It was written for the enjoyment of others, and I sincerely hope that I accomplished that. Most of all, thank you for joining me on this roller coaster ride of an experience – through the laughs, the fights, the whumpage, the tears, the hatred, the bruises, the plot bunnies, the crazy children, the writer's block, all of it.

To those of you who favorite and alerted this story, thank you. Each one made me smile and feel immensely loved. I hope that this work of fiction held up to your expectations. It means a lot, guys.

And last but not least, greatest thanks to KG and Moppy – you were my inspiration when those plot bunnies attacked with a vengeance. I couldn't have done it without you. :D

**Disclaimer**: Supernatural and all related characters belong to Eric Kripke. My characters belong to me. Steal them and die, people.

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Eight  
**The End of the Road

**Salvation, Iowa  
**July 30, 2006

Rosie was safe at long last, their most recent brush with death leaving the brothers' lungs half-filled with smoke and shaking from the shock of the aftermath. Dean's shoulder ached from the force he'd been forced to exert to propel his little brother away from that damn house. Sam had been determined to go back in there and kill the thing.

"_Let me in there! I don't care, Dean!"_

"_WELL I DO!"_

Dean squeezed his eyes shut against the flood of images assaulting his mind. The image of the demon silhouetted in flame, that unearthly laugh echoing through the air, would be burned on his eyelids forever. An involuntary shiver coaxed his hair to stand on end, even as he shoved the image away, returning his attention to the cell phone in his hand.

"Something happened," Dean growled, resisting the urge to launch the phone across the room. He glanced to the bed where Sam sat immobile staring at the opposite wall. "Did you hear me? Something happened."

"You should have let me at it, Dean," Sam said darkly, leg bouncing restlessly up and down.

In that moment he would have cheerfully strangled his brother. How could he so conveniently forget his wife and kid when the Demon was involved Dean would never, ever understand. It was beyond his realm of comprehension.

"Sam, I wanna waste it. I do, okay? But it's not worth dying over!"

"What?" Sam repeated, shocked.

"I mean it!" Dean thundered, one finger raised threateningly. "If hunting this demon means you getting yourself killed I hope we never find the damn thing!"

Which, inevitably, opened a whole new can of worms. "How can you say that, Dean?" Sam exploded, leaping off the bed.

"I meant what I said, Sam," Dean yelled back. "This isn't worth dying over. You said it yourself. They're dead, and no matter what we do, they will never come back!"

Sam seized his older brother by the shoulders and threw him back against the wall. "Don't you say that! Not you! You don't get to say that!"

"Like hell I don't!" Dean shoved his brother back, hard, leaving them faced off in the center of the room. "I lost my mom _and _my best friend, Sam! So, yeah, I get to say that! Because you know what? MOM WOULDN'T WANT YOU TO GET YOURSELF KILLED! Damn it, you SAW her spirit in that house, Sam! She used her energy to kill the thing, protecting YOU!"

"You're blaming this on ME?" Sam growled. He glared at his brother, fury dancing in his eyes.

"Of course not," Dean replied, anger evaporating instantly. "I'm trying to get you to see _reason_. How does it help us for you to rush in guns blazing and get yourself shot and killed?"

Sam threaded his hands through his hair, gripping tightly on the dark strands as he slowly released a breath. "Okay, I hear you," he said under his breath. "Call dad again."

"He's not picking up," Dean announced later, phone bouncing in his hand. "We can't do this alone. We need help."

"Yeah, we do," Sam agreed tiredly, collapsing back onto the bed.

Three hours later the car was packed, motel paid for, and the Impala on the road, the fight between the brothers momentarily forgotten.

"Where are we going?" Sam wondered after a while, not quite sure what direction Dean was taking them in.

"Sioux Falls, South Dakota," Dean replied, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. "We're going to see Bobby."

"Oh, boy. You think he'll try to shoot us?"

"I sure as hell hope not…"

* * *

**Salvation, Iowa  
**July 30, 2006

Noah felt himself waking slowly, dragged out of a morphine-induced slumber against his will much as he had been put _into _said slumber against his will. The discomfort hit him like a ton of bricks. His incision site felt fine, only throbbed a little, but the rest of his body was aching like a mother effing bitch. Damn, he hated morphine, period. He hoped the little bastard who had pinned him down to administer it accidentally tripped over his foot and impaled himself on a scalpel. It could happen.

Dragging his eyes open took some effort but he managed. All he could see was a blurry, too-white ceiling and a blob of tan and yellow that could only be his partner's face.

"Hey, man," Michael said, relief in his voice. "How do you feel?"

He grunted in response to his partner's stupid question and attempted to rub some of the blurriness out of his eyes. Again with the hating morphine complaint. It threw his internal body systems out of whack for days.

"You le' 'em gimme _that_," he accused groggily, managing to glare up at Michael through his clearing vision. He could see his features now; his partner had the sense to at least _look _abashed.

"You were in pain." Oh, great. Michael was sporting his you're-an-idiot-and-don't-know-better-so-you-need-to-be-babysat-like-a-three-year-old voice. Peachy.

Surprisingly, there was no pain as he cleared his throat and vigorously rubbed his face with his right hand. The blurry vision had cleared but the aching limbs remained. "I hate morphine, Michael," he reminded his friend, strength back in his voice. "You should have made them give me something, _anything_, else."

"Sorry," Michael mumbled. "I was too tired to think straight last night. I won't forget again."

"Good," he grunted, studying the room. The outside was still dark. "What time is it?"

"Four thirty."

"Christ."

The hospital room was plain, with the typical gray floors and white walls, chairs shoved up against the wall with one of the two chairs at his beside occupied by his partner. Michael looked like hell – his face was pale, drawn, and ragged, eyes bleary and a little bloodshot. Noah was touched that Michael cared enough about him to be this worried. There was a cot under the window that was currently occupied by his good-for-nothing asshole of a little brother, Cole, who was sleeping facing the wall with his back facing them. He found it strange that his brother was sill in a Kevlar vest and hiking gear.

Noah remembered then. "He is so dead," he growled, glaring daggers at his younger sibling's back. "I'll kill the ruddy bastard myself." When Michael looked poised to argue, he lifted a finger in his face. "Nuh-uh. You fed me to the wolves with the morphine. AssCole is _mine_."

Michael didn't look to happy about it, but agreed with a short nod.

"You look like shit, Michael. Go home and sleep," said Noah firmly.

"Right," Michael agreed drolly, "because I can totally just sprout wings and fly from here to Denver." He was chuckling lightly by the end of his sentence.

"Are you wearing the same clothes from the raid?" Noah demanded, sitting up to study his partner's pants. "You are! Jesus, Mike, _eew_." His razor-sharp gaze settled on Michael's bare hands. "At least you had the common sense enough to wipe the blood off."

A strangled sob from Michael made Noah's gaze snap up in surprise. Whoa – Michael was crying. Noah suddenly felt immensely awkward as he watched two fat tears trail down his partner's face. Thankfully, he buried his face in his hands as his shoulders shook. Not sure what else to do, Noah squeezed his shoulder tightly in one hand.

"You scared me," Michael choked out. "I thought the bullet went through your heart, Noah, I really did. I thought you were _dead_, right there under my hands." He drew his shaking hands away from his face, staring down at them, looking so lost it nearly broke Noah's heart. "I can still feel your blood leaking out between my hands. There was so _much _of it…"

"Michael, look at me," Noah commanded harshly, shaking his friend's shoulder roughly. Those bluer-than-blue eyes fixed on him. "Good. Now breathe. In and out, in and out, there you go. Just breathe." Over the course of about a minute Michael slowly pulled himself together. "I'm fine, Michael. The bullet wasn't even close to my heart. You hear me? I'm _fine_. Consider it payback for your possum play last winter."

Michael laughed shakily and ran his hands down his face. "Fine," he agreed. "We're even."

"Good."

Comfortable silence descended upon the room as Noah gently poked and prodded at the area around his bandage. His tissues were incredibly sore, but other than the actual wound and the fact his arm was strapped tightly to his side in a sling, no bones were broken or anything major injured. He'd been shot enough times to know the soreness was compliments of the bullet that had torn through layers of muscle tissue.

The doctor arrived and Michael scooted backwards to be out of his way. He winced when the bandage was removed, but Noah assured him it only looked terrible and really didn't hurt all that bad. Movement behind him prompted him to turn and stare coldly at Cole, who was rubbing his hands over the two o'clock shadow on his face.

Cole's face paled at the sight of the wound as he jumped to his feet and lunged to his brother's bedside, completely ignoring the doctor. "Shit," he exclaimed. "What the hell _is _that?"

Noah raised an eyebrow. "It's a hole in my body made by a bullet," he replied coolly, prompting a weak smile out of Michael. The room fell silent again while the doctor re-bandaged the wound and gave Noah instructions on the following weeks. It was clear from his tone he didn't agree with Noah transferring to Cheyenne. Too bad for him the FBI Agent had made up his mind and wouldn't change it. The irritated doctor stalked off to leave them in silence.

"So, Cole," Michael said conversationally, meeting Noah's eyes. Noah nodded, head tilting downwards the slightest fraction. "Care to tell us what the Conclave wanted you to do in Montana?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Cole said flatly, face devoid of emotion as he took a small step backwards towards the door.

Michael moved faster than Cole could see and clamped down on his arm, slapping an iron bracelet around his wrist. Dread settled over Cole when he figured out that he couldn't teleport. "Oh, no you don't," he said conversationally, twisting the boy's wrist in a well-used arresting control technique, getting Cole on the ground gritting his teeth in pain. "Talk fast or I break it." To prove his point, he increased the pressure until Cole cried out in pain.

"Alright, alright," Cole gasped, attempting to twist away to no avail. Damn the pure iron bracelet preventing his teleportation. "I was ordered by Brad Newbern to follow Paige if she should leave Wyoming. So I followed her up to Montana. John Newbern hoped that she would shed light on the recent disappearance of Constance Brennan." He gasped and clenched his teeth at the ache in his wrist increased, Michael's thumb painful pressure on the knuckle of his ring finger, index and middle fingers preventing him from moving his thumb. "The wall had two words carved into it, Salvation and AZAZ. I called you to warn you. That's all that happened, I swear."

"Why did the Conclave order you to get information on Constance?" Michael demanded.

"I don't know," Cole bit out.

Michael pressed harder as Cole yelped, attempting to twist away. "I said no lies, Cole," he reminded the kid conversationally.

"Okay, okay, okay!" Cole cried, writhing until Michael decreased the pressure yet again. He panted from the exertion on his helpless wrist. "The Conclave wants to know where she is. Brad was…worried about her."

Noah motioned for Michael to let his brother go. "Come sit, Cole," he said calmly. "Take that bracelet, off, though, and I won't hold Michael back next time. Don't look at me like that. Do you really think you possess the only brain in our family? Dad figured it out right after the first time you teleported. He surmised correctly that something pure corrupts your ability." He snapped his fingers at the chair. "Come sit down, damn you, we have a lot to talk about."

Cole skirted around Michael to the opposite side of the bed, glaring at the blonde with mistrust shining in his eyes. He sat gingerly on the edge of the chair, fingers kneading his now-sore wrist.

"There are a few things you need to get through that ridiculously thick head of yours, little brother," Noah began, plumping his pillows impatiently with his good hand. "First off, _Connie IS NOT EVIL_."

"And I should believe you why?" Cole bit out, bitter sarcasm dripping from each word.

Michael sat across the bed from him, watching Noah inhale deeply and exhale through his nose, no doubt searching for patience. "Start slow," he suggested mildly, rubbing his eyes. It seemed his headache was back tenfold. He made a mental note to avoid passing out at his partner's beside with his head at such an awkward angle next time.

"Constance Brennan and her family have done more for us in this world than you could possibly wrap your narrow little mind around, Cole," Noah began diplomatically, clinging to any remaining semblance of patience he possessed. "She has protected us at every turn, through thick and thin, whether we wanted it or not. I don't know why she does this, but I speculate she is trying to make up for the part of her she wishes never existed."

"What part?" Cole asked, listening now, fingers stilling on his wrist. His narrowed eyes were blue slits focused on his older brother. "What are you talking about?"

"You see, dear brother," Noah continued as if never interrupted, "Connie is not, entirely, human. She was conceived while her father was possessed by a demon, a demon I speculated then moved to her mother's body to remain dormant during the pregnancy. When she was born, the demon tried to kill her for being a girl instead of a boy. William Brennan acted quickly to save his child and banish the demon, whisking her away to hallowed ground until the Brotherhood could decide what was to be done of her.

"And so she was raised with her human side dominant, while the demon side whirled within her, giving unimaginable powers such as teleportation, time travel, mind control, you name it, Connie can probably do it. But it is the demon who 'fathered' her that she is trying to make up for." Noah took a deep breath and rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Mostly because that demon has been the cause of so much pain." His unfathomable blue eyes bored into Cole's. "Think long and hard, little brother, and it will come to you."

Michael and Noah watched as confusion marred his brow, eyes churning with suppressed emotions. His lips were pursed tight in thought while he sifted around in his mind for all the demons they had ever come across. It was no secret when his mind dawned upon the horrible truth, all arrogance and confidence melting away to blooming shock and horror, eyes going wide as his jaw dropped open to fit his lips into a round O of disbelief.

"Yes, Cole," said Noah, softly. "Connie's father is the Yellow-Eyed Demon."

* * *

**Somewhere near Sioux Falls, South Dakota  
**August 1, 2006

John shifted in the seat of the Impala, doing his best to ignore the pain flashing through him with each and every movement, particularly in the bullet hole in his leg. He was both proud and disappointed at Sam. While he didn't exactly want to die, he knew Sam should have taken that shot, should have killed the damn thing while he had the chance.

Sam must have heard him, because he glanced over, taking stock of his bloody face and spreading blood stain on the seat. His fingers tightened convulsively on the steering wheel, eyes not even daring to glance in the back seat at Dean's prone, half-conscious, and bleeding form, lest the panic start to rise again.

Dean watched this from the back seat, too in pain to intercede in their conversation. He was bruised and battered, both inside and outside, from the Demons' treatment. Had it meant what it said, that his family did not need him as much as he needed them? He didn't think so, but then… they'd abandoned him, hadn't they? He slumped against the window, too exhausted to think such thoughts, eyes fluttering shut as he willed them closer to the hospital.

"Look, just hold on, alright?" Sam said, forcing the nervous crack from his voice as he sensed his brother's breathing deepen and slow. _Please let him be asleep, please let him be asleep…_ "The hospital is ten minutes away."

He didn't give a damn where the hospital was. All that mattered was the Demon – it had lived, and could very well be hunting them right now. Hell, it probably _was _hunting them right now.

"I'm surprised at you, Sammy," John growled. "I _thought_ we saw eye to eye on this. Killing this thing comes first, before me, before EVERYTHING."

"No, sir," said Sam softly. His gaze flickered to the rearview mirror to see his brother with blood trickling down his chin, pain filling his green eyes. _Not before you, not before my brother, not before my _family_, _he added silently, not daring to voice his opinion aloud. "Not before everything."

John opened his mouth to protest, but was cut off by Sam's rising voice.

"Look," he all but shouted, "we still got the Colt, we still got the one bullet left." He inhaled sharply, ignoring the stabbing pain in his chest. Something warm was tickling his cheek. When he swept his hand across it, it came away stained red with his own blood. For the time being, he ignored that. All his energy was currently occupied trying to get his father to see reason. "We just have to start over, alright? We already found the demon once, we c––"

Sam's words stopped abruptly as a great force struck the Impala, slamming his head into the glass, the force crushing his nose. The tinkling of shattered glass and the scream of metal deafened him, cut off all rational thought, as he was hurtled sideways, disoriented by the conflicting sounds and feels. A warm flow of blood oozed down his face as he struggled to comprehend what had just happened. The car was utterly silent now, no longer sliding across the turf.

Images of his family flashed before his eyes – Ally, laughing at a silly joke, Ally, slapping him as he made fun of her taste in movies, Levi, curling into his side while they watched a movie in Dean's living room, safe and content and happy…Jess, her white dress flowing around her as she beckoned him closer.

Silence, deafening, overwhelming. He knew he should care, knew he should call out, do something, but the edges of his vision were fading.

And with that silence came the blessed darkness of unconsciousness.

* * *

**Sioux Falls, South Dakota**  
August 1, 2006

Bobby Singer hurried across his book-strewn living room towards his cell phone, resting on his desk. He snatched it up, juggling for a moment with the heavy demonology textbook and the phone before flipping it open and balancing the book on his hand, lifting the phone to his ear.

"Singer," he grunted, wondering who in God's name would be calling him now. He'd already gotten his ass chewed out by John Newbern and Tony Baraldi and _really _was not looking forward to getting his ass chewed out _again_. Someone his age was supposed to do the ass-chewing, not the other way around.

"Bobby…it's me."

He froze, mouth opening and closing in shock, nearly dropping the book from his now-shaking hand. "I haven't heart from ya in quite some time," he said softly. "Why ya callin' me now?"

"I need help, Bobby."

Of course. It was always that. First with the Conclave, then the Winchester boys. Next, it would be the freakin' Loch Ness Monster. "Anything," he agreed warily.

"I wouldn't be so quick to say that…"

"Why? What's wrong, Firecracker?"

A tired laugh came over the line. "You haven't called me that since I was little."

"Well, ya ain't lit my kitchen on fire since you were little, neither," he informed matter-of-factly, warmth infusing his tone at the memory. "That was you, always playing with fire."

"I don't think I can play with fire anymore, Bobby. This time it's going to burn me."

"How can I help?"

"I need you to get a message to the Conclave for me."

Bobby's brow furrowed in confusion. "Why can't ya tell 'em yourself?"

"Too dangerous. Do you trust me?"

He was offended it had even been suggested otherwise. "Of course," he huffed gruffly. _With my life_, he added silently.

"Tell them this, word for word. _Word for word_, Bobby."

"Word for word," he echoed. "Okay, alright. Do ya want me to swear it on a goddamn stack of bibles? Jesus…"

"_Blessed is he who sacrifices his own life's blood, and for this his soul is sacred, free from the wrath of damnation_. Tell them that, Bobby, exactly, word for word. When it happens, they will know of what I speak."

"Wait– " Bobby pleaded.

The line went dead, but not before he heard what sounded like a faint but muffled sob in the background.

Bobby stared down at the phone, eyebrows a deep V of concern.

"Well, this can't be good," he grunted.

He really hated drama.

* * *

**Somewhere outside Sioux Falls, South Dakota  
**August 1, 2006

Crunching metal faded to a dull buzz of nothing within his mind. Dean floated, weightless, the sharp pinpricks of pain ebbing away until he couldn't feel a thing, suspended in an odd sort of part-animation. The black slowly started fading to white, until that white was blinding him and he blinked furiously against it, squinting to protect his eyes as the light soothed to a sort of pulsing white glow.

He sat up as feeling returned in part to his body. For a long moment he stared down at the surface he was sitting on, watching as grass cropped up as if by magic and color suddenly exploded with such intensity he nearly had a heart attack. A blue sky with white fluffy clouds and the golden yellow orb of the sun suspended above him met his gaze, mountains rising to spar with the skyline, sloping down to gentle hills and the flat grassy field he was seated in.

Slowly, he got to his feet, brushing nonexistent dirt of his jeans. He would know this place blindfolded – he was standing in the south field of his ranch, currently uninhabited. Far in the distance of west field he could see the cattle grazing, dirt stirring up as their hooves kicked it around.

"Hello?" he called out, trying to piece it together in his mind. How did he get from the impala in Ohio to here, Thunder Creek? There was no way he slept that much, Sam would have woken him up and forced him to drive by now. Plus, why the heck would they stick him smack in the middle of south field in broad daylight? It didn't add up, leading him to conclude that he was one of two things: dead or dreaming. And as this didn't exactly fit his picture of 'heaven' – he doubted he'd even _go _to heaven – he decided this was some sort of weird dream.

There was no answer to his yell, only the warmth of a soft breeze on his face that rustled the grass at his feet.

"Anyone?" he yelled, louder. He blinked, and suddenly, he was in a park he'd never seen before. People were everywhere, enjoying the sunlight. Unable to stop himself, he waved his hands in front of their faces and shouted, but to no avail.

"If they could hear you, they would reply, you know," a familiar voice jokingly scolded.

Dean spun, eyes going wide as his mouth dropped. There in the shadow of a giant oak tree stood Christopher John Newbern, decked out in leather jacket, jeans, and combat boots, hands stuffed deep in his pockets.

"Chris?" he breathed.

"Hey, Dean," Chris replied easily. "Long time, no see."

"Am I dead?"

His best friend chuckled, amusement twinkling in his dark blue eyes. "Of course not," he said. "Why would you think that?"

"Am I in hell?" he elaborated.

Chris cocked an eyebrow. "Now, Dean, why in the world do you think you'd be in hell?" he wondered.

"Because that's where you are."

"Am I?" Impish grin in place now, Chris looked smug and amused, lips tilted into a playful smirk, head tilted slightly to the side to appraise him.

It was Dean's turn to furrow his brow. "You sold your soul to save Paige," he reminded his friend, surprised by how surreal this whole dream seemed. "That puts you in hell." Chris was smiling a secretive little smile. "Doesn't it?" he prodded, suddenly not sure. _Didn't it? _He couldn't really remember.

A shrug was his only answer.

"Think about it for a second, Dean. Does this look like hell to you?" Chris said calmly, sweeping his hand to their surroundings, gaze resting especially on the giggling children playing on the playground.

"No." Dean crossed his arms and studied his friend. "So, what, this is heaven?"

"Nope." Chris' lips popped on the P.

He waited for Chris to explain himself.

"I was in hell," Chris said after a long pause, shifting from foot to foot as he struggled to word his story.

"Was?" Dean repeated, eyes going wide again.

"I was there for, maybe, a day." Chris puffed out a breath and stared up at the white fluffy clouds dotting the sky. "Then everything went black. I woke up, and I was here." He waved his hand again to encompass their surroundings.

Dean was positive this was the strangest conversation he'd ever had, and with his dead best friend to boot. "Where exactly is 'here'?" he wondered.

"I'm not exactly sure." Chris shrugged again and smiled faintly. "I call it _between_. I'm not alive, exactly. People can't hear me or see me. But I'm not dead, either. I was brought here by someone. I've been here for months, waiting on the verdict of the powers that be." His blue eyes briefly flicked back to the sky before resting on Dean again.

"Powers that be… like _heaven_?"

Chris pursed his lips and shrugged. "Can't say."

"How did I get here?"

"You were in a car accident, Dean," he said gently. Dean blinked, and they were on the highway he last remembered driving on, listening to his dad and brother argue. A semi truck has smashed into the Impala. Fury arced through Dean at the sight of his beloved car smashed to bits. That anger faded slightly when he noticed his own body slumped, bleeding and unconscious, against the rear window, and his dad and little brother unconscious in the front seat. Sirens blared in the distance, the flickering red-and-blue lights drawing nearer.

Chris reached out to clasp his shoulder. "You are in a state of half-awareness, brought here the same way I was brought here. The people cannot see us or hear us. We're trapped halfway between life and death and unable to do a damn thing about it."

Another blink, and he was standing on his porch in Wyoming. Paige was in the swing with Jace in her arms, rocking gently while she watched Levi, Sammy, Owen, and Brody playing with the water hose and screaming in laughter in the fading dusk.

"She can't hear us?" Dean asked for clarification.

"No, Dean," Chris said quietly, slinging an arm over Dean's shoulders. "I've been here since I died." He silently searched for a way to explain, brow furrowing as he thought, mind honing in on a possible reference. "Have you ever seen _Ghost_?"

"With Patrick Swayze?" Dean had seen it once with Paige, back before they'd gotten married. He remembered he'd liked it.

The dark-haired man nodded solemnly. Dean nodded that he had seen it. "I've learned, over time, how to communicate with people who cannot see me or hear me." His eyes rested on his little sister. "My presence creates comforting warmth. Since my death, I've done this for you, my sister, my dad, my wife, my children…everyone pained by my loss I have comforted the only way I know how. For that one moment, I can make it seem as though I am not lost… because I'm not. I'm right here."

Dean silently studied his friend for a long moment. "You figured out how to communicate," he said slowly, letting that sink into his mind. "You made it so Paige can hear you in her mind, so that Jared dreams about you, so that Pete saw you in that operating room. Anyone else?"

"My dad," Chris admitted with a faint smile. "I've been funneling my happiest memories at him, flinging them at him, really. It makes him feel less lonely, focusing on the good times we shared and not the pain he feels at losing his oldest son." Sadness echoed from his sapphire blue eyes. "My little siblings need him now more than ever. He can't spend time dwelling over me when he had a life to live."

"And Amy?"

"As much as I can," he admitted, pain flashing through his eyes now. "It killed me that she had to have Christopher alone, that I wasn't there to be with her." He sighed heavily. "I love my family, Dean. At the time, the choice to save my baby sister had no pause whatsoever. But if the same were to happen now, if I had to choose between my wife and kids and my parents and siblings… how do you choose? How do you live with that pain?"

"What's dead is dead, Chris," Dean said faintly, quoting Brad Newbern's favorite line. "You acted impulsively because you love her. Nobody blames you. Hell, if it wasn't for you, I never would have met her. She never would have taught me what it means to love." He waved his hand at the house, eyes softening at the image of his wife and child rocking quietly together on the swing, staring into each other's eyes. "Look at that, Chris." He waited for Chris to do so, face softening at the image. "If it weren't for you, she never would have gotten _that_. Sammy and Jace never would have been born. I never would have moved to start the adoption process with Owen and Brody, hell, Owen and Brody likely would have died that night."

The conversation seemed to leave Chris enervated, his shoulders slumping as if in defeat or exhaustion. Dean understood his inner conflict. The eldest sibling was expected to protect, to guard, to look after. Never did their parents think to possibly allow them a moment of peace just to be a kid. In the hunting world, that wasn't a reality. And both knew that JB and Owen would be expected to upkeep the tradition – The Big Brother Protector Who Kicks Ass of All Who Threaten Baby Siblings.

"Do you regret it?" Dean wondered quietly.

"No." Chris' voice was absolutely certain. "Not a damn bit." His face softened as he watched his sister and nephew before catching Dean's gaze again. "It was worth it." His lip curled into an amused smile.

Dean sank to the porch, sliding his back against the wall until he was seated with his knees pulled up to his chest. Chris sat opposite him, leaning against the porch railing.

"I don't understand," he admitted.

"About what?" Chris wondered, mimicking his position. Dean had a sense of déjà vu, and suddenly, the year of pain and guilt melted away and it was him and Chris again, talking about whatever. He had his best friend back. Even if it was some sort of OOBE, but he wasn't quite sure that was the case.

"How are we here, exactly?"

Chris picked at the frayed end of his jeans, looking very much like a little boy, lower lip jutted out in thought. "I'm not exactly sure," he hedged, "of what I'm allowed to tell you." He glanced up at Dean briefly, and then back down to his jeans. "I know how _I_ got here, but I'm not sure how _you _got here." He puffed out a frustrated breath, grimacing in distaste. "Months I've been here, Dean. Following you guys around. The person who brought me here assured me the 'powers that be' are deciding whether or not I'm worth the trouble to put back into my body."

An involuntary thump of Dean's heart followed his words. "Back in your body," he said slowly. "Like…resurrected? Is that even possible?"

A short, harsh laugh escaped his best friend. "Oh, you have no idea, Dean," he said, voice devoid of emotion. "You would have trouble comprehending the powers in this world. They're so much vaster than we ever could have imagined."

"I don't suppose you'll tell me?" Dean wondered, turning his head to watch Paige crooning at their infant son. He wondered if she could feel their presence. A large part of him hoped she could.

"Suppose not," Chris replied. "All I know is I'm stuck here until something happens."

Dean's body started to tingle, from his fingertips up to his shoulders and down through his chest.

A sad, wry smile curved Chris' lips. "That'll be them trying to resuscitate you," he said quietly, climbing to his feet as the sun set over the mountains behind them. "You have to go now, Dean."

"Chris, I don't want to go," he protested, grasping his friend's hand. "I don't want to leave you again."

"I'm never alone, Dean," Chris assured him. "Besides, my sister needs you. Promise me to hold on. You have to fight, Dean."

It felt like Dean was being pulled backwards, slowly, away from his friend as everything went darker, Chris at the end of the hallway with a halo of light enveloping him.

"Do not worry about me, brother," Chris assured him, lifting a hand in farewell. "You will not remember this meeting."

"I want to," Dean said forcefully, fighting the tingle enveloping him as his vision began to fade.

Chris smiled, suddenly his usual bright, cheerful self, the Chris that Dean remembered vividly. "Don't worry, Dean," he called, growing smaller and smaller as Dean was pulled further away. "I will see you soon."

"What does that mean?" he yelled in frustration, thrashing mentally against the force drawing him back, away from his friend.

The last thing he heard was Chris' hearty laugh, and then nothing – just a black void of emptiness, sucking away memory.

It was as Chris had said.

He remembered nothing.

Chris watched his best friend's form disappear, sadness enveloping him again. He turned to watch Paige call her sons and nephew indoors to dinner, peace enveloping him. Amy's truck halted in the driveway and his munchkins jumped out, excited for the annual movie night.

He was patient, he could bide his time.

And so, as always, he watched and waited and enveloped those he loved with his comforting presence.

Soon, God willing… he could die, and finally, be at peace.

* * *

**Thunder Creek, WY**  
August 1, 2006

There was no exhaustion like the gripping, complete bone-tired feeling Paige felt when she woke from her restless night. Jared had returned home late last night to be with his wife, leaving her alone in the giant house. Owen had woken up at one AM with a fever, Sammy two hours after that, and the both of them had proceeded to cry all night long. Between that, Brody's diaper disaster at four this morning, and the baby's constant unhappy cry all night, she had barely slept a wink. Not even boot camp had made her this tired. It had not been a good night.

Noah's stitches had been torn, so they'd held him all day on the 31st just in case something else went wrong. Instead of transferring him yesterday he would be transferred at noon today. To top it all off, now her throat was scratchy, too. She hoped beyond hope that her giant glass of orange juice and vitamins would help fend off sickness.

Rubbing bleary eyes, she stumbled across the hall to Brody's nursery. The one-year-old was up as usual, bouncing up and down happily as soon as she entered the room.

"Mama, mama, mama," Brody chanted (mama being one of his two word vocabulary), arms straight up in the air.

Paige scooped him up and snuggled him close, running her hand over his short, velvet-soft sun-bleached blonde hair. "Morning, baby B," she greeted him with a yawn, rubbing his back.

Breakfast was much easier to make for two, and Brody certainly enjoyed being able to sit on her hip and alter between snuggling and wanting to help. Usually Sammy was in his current spot. They enjoyed the breakfast together, the scene nostalgically reminding her of the time when it was only Sammy in her life. It was almost hard to remember life without her four boys at this point.

The kitchen door opening drew her attention from her thoughts. Jared sauntered into the kitchen, a deep frown on his face as he kicked off his boots and glanced quickly under all surfaces.

"Morning," she greeted him with a huge yawn, scooping oatmeal into Brody's mouth as she tried to coach him the proper way to hold a spoon.

"Where in the world is everyone?" he wondered. "It's quiet as a tomb in here. It's _never_ quiet in here."

"Owen and Sammy are sick, too sick to get out of bed. Dean's hunting, the dogs are in the fields with the hands, and the baby is asleep for now," she explained, punctuating it with another huge yawn.

"You look like death warmed over," he remarked as he pulled a chair towards him, straddling it backwards to rest his arms across the top. "Sleep okay?"

"Sleep?" she sighed, rubbing her. A faint smiled tugged at her lips. "What sleep?"

"Ah, one of those days, huh?"

"The very one," she agreed tiredly.

Jared leaned forward to drop a kiss to the top of her head. "Noah's being transferred to Cheyenne by eleven forty-five today. Apparently, he threatened life and limb if they made him wait any longer."

"I told him I'd go and get him," Paige said, clearing the dishes. "I was going to call Amy and ask her to watch the boys while I make the drive to Cheyenne, but then they got sick." She paused to wipe the oatmeal from Brody's face and hands. "I was thinking I'd call Lisa. Elliot took Abby to go visit her mom and Lisa gets off work in twenty minutes."

Jared grinned and tweaked her nose. "Better he gets picked up by you, instead of Amanda." They shared a laugh over Noah's younger sister, who had a reputation for ripping men three times her size to bits with her words or fists. Or knives. "He'll be a happy camper. From Mandy he'd get nothing but a whale-sized ass-chewing."

Paige laughed. "He was very relieved," she admitted. "I couldn't give him the cold shoulder when I could practically feel the puppy dog eyes through the phone."

"I'll come over when I'm done with the fences," he promised, eyes serious. "I miss hanging out with you, cos." Winking rakishly, he waggled his eyebrows. "I'll bring Rachel, and we can all beat up on Noah together. God knows even with one arm, it'll take the three of us."

"Okay," she agreed, rolling her eyes but grinning nonetheless. A moment of silence passed in which they only stared at each other, conveying things with their own secret language. The bond between them would remain unbreakable, thanks to their time in the Tank. Perhaps the only good thing that came out of said Tank.

Jared hugged her tightly. "We'll talk later," he promised. "I'll see you when you get back with Thunder Creek's resident Bullet Magnet."

Mock-shoving him out the door, Paige laughed and waved him off, watching him vault to his gelding's back and disappear towards the fields. The next few hours were a blur of dealing with sick and sniffling children, one very unhappy baby, and a bubbly one-year-old content to chew on crayons, nearly giving her a freakin' heart attack. Wax was not good for the digestive system.

Lisa arrived, waving off her thanks as she accepted Brody without complaint.

"Go get Noah," she said, smiling warmly. "Give him hell for me."

"Will do," Paige promised, hugging her and lifting Jace's car seat. She thanked her cousin's wife profusely and waved goodbye, loading her son into the suburban. By nine fifteen she was on the road for Cheyenne. It was nearly ninety degrees out, a hot day to be sure. She was glad she wasn't in the fields.

Jace dozed the entire drive, thankfully, as the endless fields rolled by. Before she knew it, she was pulling into Cheyenne Regional Medical Center's parking lot and maneuvering into a parking spot. She hefted the car seat and clipped it in place on the stroller, keeping the cover up so Jace would stay asleep. She then hurried across the parking lot to the hospital, looming six stories above her. A brief smile flashed at the JOHN B. NEWBERN II CARDIOLOGY WING. Hoorah for grandpa, she thought sarcastically.

The woman at the nurse's station was friendly and smiled warmly upon her approach.

"Can I help you?" she said politely.

"I'm looking for Noah Clayborne," she said, leaning against the counter and using one hand to rock the stroller forwards and backwards to keep her son asleep. "He was transferred from Cheyenne this morning."

"Ah. You mean the sexy as hell FBI Agent?"

Paige blinked. "Uh…yeah," she hedged, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. Trust Noah to have half the hospital swooning within an hour of his arrival.

"Room 307."

"Thanks," Paige said, shoving the nurse from her thoughts as she hurried down the hall of the recovery wing. Raised voices met her ears before she was even halfway down the hallway. She easily picked out Noah and Cole's voices, as well as a third deep voice that was Agent Daniels, the man she'd spoken to on the phone.

"Noah, you got SHOT! You're off the fucking case until you recover, goddamn it!" Daniels was shouting. "Don't even TRY to argue with me, or I'll shoot you _myself_!"

"Damn it, Daniels, it's just a flesh wound! Besides, we both know me and Michael are the best at this," Noah shot back angrily.

"No freakin' way, Noah," Michael's voice cut in harshly, agreeing with Daniels.

"Oh, sure, side with _him_," Noah growled viciously. He sounded like a surly five-year-old. Granted, a pissed-off six-foot-eight five-year-old, but still…

"Boys, play nice," she suggested as she swung the stroller into Noah's room just in time to see Noah's fist half-raised in preparation to strike Corey in the face. Noah froze and lowered it quickly as soon as she entered the room.

Noah's face lit up like a Christmas tree. He was standing in only drawstring pants and white socks, arm in a sling and shoulder heavily bandaged. Before she could greet him he dragged her into a one-armed bear hug and proceeded to squeeze the breath right out of her.

"I adore you," he said cheerfully, relief evident in his tired voice, a deep rumble beneath her ear. She wrapped her arms carefully around his waist and squeezed gently before stepping away, fearful of hurting his shoulder.

"And I'm pissed at you," Paige said, wiping her eyes.

"Worried about me?" he teased, eyes sparkling as a grin tugged at his lips.

"No."

"Then what are the tears for?"

"Yes," she amended, rolling her eyes. "Someone has to worry about you, seeing as you don't worry about yourself, idiot." Her eyes took in his pale complexion and the dark circles beneath his eyes. Deciding to give him the cold shoulder for scaring her, she turned to Agent Daniels and introduced herself.

"We've met before," Daniel said, shaking her hand. He was middle-aged, about six foot, with brown hair and sharp brown eyes set in a serious face that rarely smiled. Small wonder, considering his job, she thought.

"Where's Cole?" Paige wondered, glancing around the room.

"Fled," Noah remarked, rolling his eyes. "Couldn't grow a pair to face someone a half a foot shorter than him." He sniffed, offended. "Let the record show I no longer consider myself related to him."

Paige rolled her eyes. "Ready to go?"

"Yeah, they released me twenty minutes ago." Noah scratched his chin. "Please tell me you brought the SUV."

"Of course," she remarked, watching him heft his bag onto his good shoulder, refusing the offers of help from his partner and boss. "I assume you have strict orders to rest?"

"I – " Noah was cut off by his boss before he could finish.

"And to take his pain meds," Daniels cut in. A sigh threatened to escape when he recognized the stubborn look on the agent's face. It was impossible to bargain with Noah when he decided to be stubborn as hell like this.

"Noah doesn't take morphine," Paige said as she pulled the now-awake Jace from his car seat, settling him into her arms, crooning down at him. "It makes him as cranky as a bear and gives him a splitting headache."

Daniels noted with interest that Noah seemed pleased as punch she was sticking up for him, his expression almost smug. Her next words made him grimace, however.

"He will be resting," Paige assured the senior agent, glancing up from Jace to meet his eyes. "If I have to tranquilize him and handcuff him to the bed frame myself, so be it."

Noah rolled his eyes, disgruntled. "I'll behave," he grumbled.

"Well, good. Because I'm sticking you with Ally, and she's miss Dragon Pregnant Woman right now," Paige said cheerfully, winking at him. Noah was looking at her like she'd just proposed he walked stark naked down main street in the middle of a blizzard.

Daniels chuckled at his Agent's expression, the chuckle turning into a laugh when Noah turned a murderous glare upon him. "I like this girl," he remarked, gesturing at Paige.

"They you'd _love _my sister," Noah muttered under his breath. "Shut up," he added in his boss' general direction. "Can we go, please? Before he says something I want to really kill him for?"

"Stand down, tiger," Paige suggested, bouncing Jace as she dug around in her diaper bag for his pacifier.

"Let me," Noah said, stepping closer. Before she could protest, he expertly lifted the baby from her arms and nestled him in a cradle against his massive chest. In the crook of his arm, the baby seemed to partly disappear. Paige smiled gently at the sight.

"What?" he wondered, noting her expression.

"You need to get married and have kids, Noah Clayborne," Paige informed him as she stuck the pacifier in Jace's mouth.

Daniels looked between the two, trying to pinpoint the depth of their relationship. It seemed close. Noah didn't take orders from just anybody, and to get such a shocked reaction from him, he would quite like to meet this Ally person. He turned to Michael. "I've never seen him like this," he whispered, watching Noah perch on the edge of the bed, cooing down at the baby.

"Jace is his godson," Michael explained, typing furiously on his cell phone. "We gotta get back to the team. The signs are cropping up in Lincoln, Nebraska now."

"Right."

The group said their goodbyes, Michael and Corey hurrying off to Cheyenne airport for a direct flight to Nebraska, while Noah and Paige loaded Jace in the car and headed back to Thunder Creek.

Noah Clayborne, resident Bullet Magnet, had never been so happy to be home.

* * *

**Thunder Creek, WY**  
August 5, 2006

Paige nestled Jace in her arms and stirred the pasta sauce slowly, tasting it occasionally, one ear listening for any cries of pain or anger from the living room. Jace was awake but quiet, sucking on his pacifier, big blue eyes staring up at her. She planted a tender kiss on his soft forehead and buckled him into his bouncer, returning to the stove to cover the sauce. Noah and Ally were coming over tonight, and she was making Noah's favorite to make him happier, as an olive branch for sticking the injured agent with the heavily pregnant, short-tempered Ally. This way, however, Ally was keeping Noah on his toes and Noah was there just in case Ally started going into labor or something.

A loud cry from the living room claimed her attention. She wiped her hands on her apron and hurried into the room just in time to see Sammy yank Brody's bear out of his grasp.

The one-year-old screamed louder, hands gripping the edge of the port-a-crib as he jumped up and down, fat tears streaming down his face. Paige snagged Sammy's arm and pulled him around to face her, wearing her Mom glare in full force.

"You give your brother back his bear this instant," she said threateningly. Sammy opened his mouth to protest, but fell silent when she lifted a finger. "Now," she repeated forcefully.

"Buh mommy," Sammy whined, lip wobbling. He reluctantly handed the bear back to Brody, who clutched it in his arms and laid down, rubbing his face into the soft fur as he dropped into nap-time.

"Go sit," Paige ordered, pointing to the time-out chair. "That's the third time this morning you've bugged him. I told you to leave him alone, and you didn't. Go."

Sammy pouted but plunked into the chair, eyes downcast. He crossed his arms and hunched his shoulders to enhance the "I'm so pitiful" act. His feet swung childishly from the tall chair, furthering the image. Paige forced herself not to smile. Her boy was a masterful actor, that much was for sure.

Owen was intent on his Lego tower, tongue sticking partway out of his mouth. He didn't glance up when she sat beside him.

"What are you building?" she asked, ruffling his blonde hair.

"Wayne tower," Owen replied solemnly. Before the most recent hunt, Dean had bought him a Batman comic, and it had been his absolute favorite ever since. He scooted over slightly so she could help. "Mommy, when is daddy coming home?"

"As soon as he can, sweetheart," she promised, kissing the crown of his head. Worry swelled within her, worry that she squashed down slightly so Owen would not pick up on it. Dean had not called in days, which was unheard of. Something had happened, she could feel it, but had no way of reaching him. The Conclave had already realized all three of Sam, Dean, and John's cell phones had been shut down.

"How come Uncle Noah can't move his arm?"

Paige sighed and sat up, pulling the boy into her lap. "Uncle Noah's job is dangerous, buddy," she explained. "He got hurt."

Owen's wide eyes were full of concern. "Did a bad guy get him?" he whispered fearfully.

"Yeah, buddy. Sometimes the good guys get hurt, too."

"Have _you_ gotten hurt, mommy?"

"A few times, bud."

He pondered that for a moment, studying her. Since she was fine, he was convinced Noah would be fine, too. "He'll be okay, right?" he asked, just to be sure.

"He'll be fine, bud. It will just take him a while to get better, that's all." She smiled at him. "He'll be throwin' that football with you again before you know it."

Placated, Owen nodded, picking at the edge of his shirt.

Paige smiled, noting the same nervous habit as Dean. "What's bothering you, Owen?"

"Is daddy going to go away like Johnny's daddy did?" he whispered. Owen glanced up at her, biting his lip. "Johnny says he woke up one day and his daddy wasn't there no more and his mommy said he went on a vacation with Jesus."

"Daddy's not going on a vacation with Jesus anytime soon, Owen," Paige said confidently. _I hope_, she silently added. She hugged him tightly, tucking his head under her chin.

"Will Uncle Chris ever come back from his vacation?"

Paige smiled against the top of his head. Oh, from the mouths of babes. Such innocence. "Maybe," she hedged, squeezing him again before letting him go. "Keep building your tower. I've got to go stir the sauce." Owen smiled up at her. "I'm making Uncle Noah's favorite meat sauce for the pasta."

"Awesome," he grinned, fears forgotten.

"Sammy, you can get up, now," Paige called as she stood and brushed her pants off. Sammy beamed at the news and raced over, diving down onto the carpet next to Owen.

"I help?" he said hopefully.

Owen sighed. "Sure, Sammy," he said, handing the younger boy a Lego. "Put it there…"

Their voices faded as she headed back to the kitchen, allowing her worry to surface now that Owen couldn't see. Dean should have called by now. He _always _called by now, or called to let her know he wouldn't be able to call very night. He never, ever kept silent like this. All she could hope was that he wouldn't make a liar out of her. The look on Owen's face if she had to tell him his daddy had gone on a vacation with Jesus was one she couldn't bear to see.

_I'm not technically with Jesus, you know_, a familiar voice quipped suddenly.

Paige jumped and squeaked, hand flying to hear heart. The voice infused her with warmth as it always did. She squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the voice to disappear.

_Not a figment of your imagination here, Paige, _Chris said softly. _And for the record, Jesus isn't around very often. Not as far as I've been able to figure out, anyway._

_You're in hell, what do you care? Of course he's not there._

_Not exactly._

_What do you mean, 'not exactly'? You sold your damn idiot soul to save me! _she fumed.

Chris' voice had nothing to say to that.

_Ar-Aren't you? _she stammered.

_I'll be around._

The warmth of his presence faded, and somehow, she felt more alone than ever.

* * *

**Thunder Creek, WY**  
August 5, 2006  
_Ally & Sam's House_

Ally ambled down the stairs, cradling her expansive stomach. Thirty-two weeks in, and at least two more to go… she sighed heavily and carefully made her way down the stairs, freezing in the doorway to the kitchen.

Standing with his broad-shouldered back to her, shirtless and rippling in his muscular glory, with drawstring pants so low on slim hips she could see the dimples in his lower back, stood Noah freakin' Clayborne.

Lovely. So it hadn't been a dream when Paige dumped the injured FBI Agent at her house to act as babysitter. "What the hell are you doing here?" she blurted without thinking. He spun to face her, boggling her mind with a long moment of extreme visual overload.

With his frame was impossibly tall and broad shouldered, with thick biceps and abs she could clean laundry on, Noah Clayborne possessed the body men envied, women lusted after, and artists longed to capture in masterpieces such as _David_. There was a light dusting of golden hair over his expansive chest, disappearing into his waist line, his pants so low she could see the creases of his sex lines and… _Jesus, new train of thought, Baraldi!_

Noah enjoyed the attention, leaning back against the counter. He winked at her when she finally met his eyes again. "Well, g'mornin' to you too, darlin'," he drawled, usual sexy smirk firmly in place.

Ally noticed the heavy bandage for the first time, a spot of blood dotting the gauze where she assumed the incision wound was. His sling was gone. She glared at him, not having the energy to fight until she had a cup of coffee. She poured herself a cup from the pot beside him, studiously ignoring the warmth radiating from his arm, only an inch from her own.

Her glare turned murderous when he plucked the cup out of her grasp halfway to her mouth and replaced it smoothly with his own.

"Decaf," he explained, eyes twinkling.

"And you're here, why?" she demanded, taking a sip. It irritated her that it was sweetened exactly the way she liked it. Damn him and his damn photographic memory...

His blonde eyebrows shot up his forehead. She envied him – she'd always wanted to be able to do that. "I can't stop by to visit a friend?" he purred, winking.

"At six in the morning?" she retorted, ignoring the way his voice did weird things to her joints. Turned them to water, to be precise.

Noah chuckled, a deep rich sound, and held up his good hand in surrender. "Orders from the Barracuda," he said, caving, not daring to poke the Dragon's temper with a stick at this hour. "But you didn't hear that from me."

Ally expelled a weary breath and rolled her eyes, taking another sip of coffee. It was so like Paige to stick her with a babysitter even when she didn't want one. _Especially _when she didn't want one. Over the rim of the cup she studied Noah's chest, in particular, his left shoulder, bruised and heavily bandaged.

"How's the shoulder?" she asked.

Noah shrugged – carefully and with one shoulder – and offered her a half-smile. "I wish I was with my team helping them hunt this demon," he admitted. "The idea I'm not there to watch their backs really makes me uneasy. Corey, however, is determined to keep my here at your mercy until I recover."

Ally's heart rate quickened at the mention of the Demon, the same Demon her own husband was currently hunting.

"Paige said the wall in Connie's house was carved with two words – Salvation and AZAZ. Any idea what they mean?"

Noah leaned back against the counter and sipped his coffee, lost in thought while he hunted for an answer. "Salvation could mean anything," he said finally. "I think, though, that Connie was trying to give us a message."

"How so?"

"Salvation, Iowa," Noah said simply. "My team was called out in response to a local hunter's observation that there were signs of rising demonic presence and demonic signs like sulfur and electrical storms." He absently swirled the liquid around in his cup, staring down into the little mini-whirlpool. "I think Connie was coming to warn us the Demon was coming, but someone got to her first."

Ally shivered at the thought. "Oh my God," she choked, squeezing her eyes shut.

"God has nothing to do with it," Noah muttered darkly, pulling her gently into his good side. "Besides, she has to be fine, otherwise Paige would be freaking out."

"Paige knows something?"

"You seem surprised," he mused with a faint grin. "She always knows something. She's not telling, though, and I'm not pressing. It's probably not something I want to know, anyway."

Ally sighed and pulled from his embrace to lower into the nearest chair, almost moaning in relief as the pressure on her feet reduced. "Noah, do you know where my husband is?" she whispered.

Her directness didn't startle him, he was long used to it by this point. Before she could protest he dropped into the chair opposite her and settled his coffee mug on the table. In one swift move and using only one hand, he swept her feet into his lap. "Last I heard," he said conversationally, "he and Dean were in Salvation with John."

Gasping, Ally gripped the edge of the table tightly in her hands as his expert thumbs kneaded her feet with firm, gentle pressure, massaging away the aches and pains pregnancy created on her poor feet. "Doesn't that hurt your left hand?" she asked through gritted teeth.

"Not if I don't lift my arm," Noah said cheerfully. He watched her with an amused grin, holding her calves hostage between his thighs. She acted like no one had ever done this before. It dawned on him then that, probably , nobody _had _done this before.

"Is there anything you aren't perfect at?" Ally snapped irritably, relaxing completely to his touch, folding her hands over her belly. The massage was heavenly.

"A few things," he said vaguely, scooting his chair closer to work on her calves. "Hasn't Sam ever given you a massage before?"

Ally silently shook her head.

He privately thought Sam was both a jackass and a prude. Who didn't comfort their pregnant wife when it was half their fault she was in this situation in the first place? An asshole, that's who.

"Dean does," Ally mumbled absently.

A smile tugged at the corner of Noah's lips. "Of course," he agreed. "The two of them can't keep their hands off each other, even after four kids."

She laughed at that, a sound that warmed Noah's heart. "True," she agreed. "But then again, they're very…" she trailed off, searching for the right word.

"Nauseatingly adorable?" he offered. "Loving? Oohey-gooey? Lovey-dovey?"

"I don't know. They're just them." Ally shook her head and closed her eyes. "Do you remember when Dean first came here?"

Noah chuckled, moving her feet to one side to get better access to her upper calves, infused with so many knots it made _his _calves hurt just to work on them.

"I do," he said, focusing on her legs, "He came swaggering in like he owned the place and hit on Paige the second he saw her, nevermind the fact she was up to her elbows in mud." He grinned at the memory. "Man, she hated him. At first."

"Didn't she shove him in a water trough?"

"Oh, yeah, I'd forgotten about that," he grinned, moving back to her feet. "Dean and Chris clicked right away, though. One day with him and I was won over, too, especially after he spent the whole night in the arena with Donas to get Donas used to his presence. I was shocked to hell when I walked out the next morning to find him on Donas' back, walking around the arena calm as you please." He laughed richly, shaking his head. "Paige was pissed."

"It was sure fun watching them dance around each other." Ally shifted and wiggled her toes. "We took bets on whether they'd get together or not." She wrinkled her nose. "I voted against them. I've never been happier to be proven wrong." She cracked an eye open to study him. "What was your vote?"

Those perfect lips titled into a crooked smile. "For them all the way," he admitted instantly. "Don't feel bad, Al. Half the town did. You weren't around Dean as much as us guys. In six months he went from hitting on every woman he could see to doing absolutely anything and everything he could think of to make her smile." He shrugged and sat back, folding his arms. He didn't move her feet. Neither did she.

"Do you believe in soul mates, Noah?" Ally blurted out suddenly. She blushed pink when both his eyebrows shot up.

"Hello, random," he teased. She was being serious, though, so he reconsidered his answer. "Yes and no," he said hesitantly. "Do I think Paige and Dean are? Yeah, maybe. I think it's rare to find someone you click with so well, though. I think it worked so well for them because they were best friends first."

Ally mulled that over, starting slightly when one of the babies gave a hard kick. All at once, she slammed back to reality as her baby seemed to be saying _What about dad, mom?_ "Sam should have called by now, Noah," she said quietly.

Noah sighed. "I'll call Daniels, see what he can find out."

"Thanks, Noah," she sighed, relieved. "For that and the massage. It was wonderful."

"Oh, I'm wonderful all over," he teased, waggling his eyebrows and smirking. He winked playfully.

Ally blushed scarlet. "Noah!" she protested, laughter bubbling up over her shock. "You are shameless!"

"You betcha," he agreed, standing and depositing her feet on his chair. "I'll go call Daniels. Don't go anywhere."

"Where would I go?" she snorted, rolling her eyes. She was dozing off when Noah re-appeared, shaking her shoulder gently. "What's the deal?" she murmured sleepily.

"Sweetheart, look at me," Noah said gently, resting his hands on her shoulders. Wide brown eyes fixed on him. "Daniels managed to get a hold of John Winchester though one of his many phones. He, Sam, and Dean were in a car accident."

Ally's heart constricted as she started to hyperventilate, hands clutching his large wrists. Noah's clear blue eyes kept her grounded as the panic slowly subsided.

"John isn't sure about the boys, he was unconscious for four days due to his injuries. He'd only just woken up. He was blocked from a phone, that's why he didn't call."

Noah was startled when she went suddenly pale and gasped, her back arching. "What's wrong?" he demanded, quickly scanning her from head to toe.

"Noah, I need you to take me to the hospital," she said slowly and calmly, her grip like a vice on his wrists. "I just had a contraction."

It was Noah's turn to go pale, eyes going wide. He sucked in a deep breath.

"Oh, shit."

Paige forced herself to remain calm while she drove, thoughts whirling around inside her head. Noah's voice had been panicked as he announced that firstly, Ally was going into labor and secondly, her husband was in a coma at the hospital, and _holy shit I don't know what do, they've stopped her labor but Pete is really worried and I'm freaking out because I've never done this before!_

Maybe a long time ago, say before she knew about her husband, his panic would have been funny. This situation, however, was anything but. While she wanted to be with Ally, her contractions _had _stopped and she was stable, just being held at the hospital for observation and refusing to let Noah leave her side. Currently, Paige had her own problems: Dean, in the hospital. Dean, in a coma. Dean, barely holding on to life. It was her worst nightmare come to life.

Which found her in the car on the road to Amy's, with her sons and Levi in the car, to drop them off for a few nights while she flew to South Dakota to be with Dean and Sam.

"How long do we gotta stay with Auntie Amy?" Owen asked from the back seat. In the rearview mirror, she could see him leaning against Sammy's car seat.

"Just for a little while," Paige replied gently, proud of herself for keeping her emotions under control. Panicking was for later, not now, not when her boys could see her. "I have to go to Iowa to see daddy. He got hurt and he's in the hospital getting better, and needs mommy to be with him."

"How come we can't go, too?"

"Little kids aren't allowed in the part of the hospital they have your daddy, Owen."

"Jace gets to go!" he whined.

"Owen Michael, that's enough whining." Paige gave him a stern look in the rearview mirror as she turned onto Amy's drive, the gravel crunching under the tires as she pulled up to the Newbern family ranch house. She could see JB riding Titan bareback in the corral.

Amy hurried out of the house, Chris perched on her hip, grabbing Paige in a one-armed hug.

"Are you okay?" she said worriedly, green eyes earnest. "Noah just called, said Ally had a labor scare and is at the hospital and that Dean and Sam got in an accident and are at a hospital in South Dakota."

Paige hugged her back and confirmed the information. "I'm sorry to dump them on you like this, it seems like all I ever do nowadays," she said. "But I'm barely holding it together here, Ame." She forced back the tears. "I'm sorry, Ame. Thank you for watching them, though, I appreciate it."

"I'm your sister," Amy said gently with a warm smile. "You don't have to ask." She put her hand on Paige's shoulder. "Dean's strong, Paige. He'll be okay. I know he will."

With a deep breath, Paige forced back the tears and nodded. "Boys," she said to her sons, pulling them into hugs, and Levi, too. "Be good for Auntie Amy, okay? Be nice to your cousins and do what Amy tells you."

Paige kissed them all goodbye again, waved, hopped into the suburban, and drove away with Jace. Owen watched her tail lights disappear and looked down at his little brothers, slinging his arms over their slender shoulders.

He was their Protector now.

* * *

The soft breeze blew in his face, reminding him of times spent in the fields upon a horse's back at a full gallop, arms thrown wide in freedom. He opened his eyes to gaze at his personal savior, the question in his eyes easy to see.

"Why now?"

"There is a time for everything," his companion replied gravely. "Over time you will see what was stopped from being put into motion, but now is not that time. You told me once that you wished to find a way out of this place. Now, you have it."

He stuffed his hands in his pocket, lips pursed in impatience. "Yes, I know," he said darkly. "But why this way, and why now? Why when all of this is happening?"

"You play a bigger part in this than you realize. Pay attention, listen closely, learn, and above all, trust no one save family."

Stubbornly, he refused to move.

"_He that hath clean hands, and a pure heart; who hath not lifted up his soul unto vanity, nor sworn deceitfully. He shall receive the blessing from the Lord, and righteousness from the God of his salvation_," his companion said simply.

"What does Psalm 24:4,5 have to do with this?"

"Stop being so stubborn and _listen_ to your own mind. Your heart knows the path. It will not fail you."

"Wait!" he called as everything started to fade. "Will I see you again?"

"Perhaps, my friend," his companion replied warmly, a detached voice in the increasing darkness. "One day."

* * *

**Hospital somewhere near Sioux Falls, South Dakota**  
August 5, 2006

Paige sat numbly in the hospital waiting room, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. Dean was in surgery after a deadly car crash. Ally's was stabilizing at Thunder Creek Memorial, having gone into premature labor a month early, while her husband was here getting checked by the doctors. Noah was shot, and at the moment, healing from the hole in his shoulder. Connie was missing, location unknown, her secret weighing down on Paige with incredible, crushing force, darkened by the knowledge that her friend and old hunting partner could very well be dead.

Her world was collapsing around her ears.

Was this how Dean had felt when she was on the brink of death?

It felt horrible. Her chest was tight, constricted, and she couldn't draw a deep breath.

There was one thing keeping her from falling to pieces then and there, and he was currently sleeping with his face nestled into his blanket. A small, weak smile graced her lips as she looked down at her sleeping one-month-old son. It felt good, to have him so near.

The waiting room was chaos. She had settled herself in the corner, away from all other people, ignoring the curious looks as people studied the pretty blonde woman silently cradling a blanket-swathed infant.

It was too crushing, this atmosphere of death and sickness. She stood to stretch her legs, deciding a walk around the park across the street would do her good. Dean wasn't going to be out of surgery for hours, that much the nurses had assured her point-blank, thoughtfully tacking on the brutal "if the lives that long" to the end of the sentence, with about as much emotional sympathy as a rabid pit bull.

Jace stirred slightly, shifting in the blanket. She lifted him a little higher, smiling as he snuggled into her, oblivious to the dangers surrounding him and the fact that if Dean didn't get his stubborn ass act together, he might very well grow up without a father.

"He'll be okay, Jace," she whispered, brushing her lips over his downy forehead, breathing in his sweet baby sent. "Your daddy's tough, like you."

The doors opened with a soft whoosh and she skillfully weaved through the people bustling to and from the hospital, stroller being guided by one hand while the other arm held her son. She wasn't the only one headed for the park. It was a gorgeous day outside, not a cloud in sight, the sun warm and welcoming while children frolicked in the grass and on the playground and young couples sprawled on picnic blankets, making out like teenagers.

She settled onto a park bench, facing the hospital, and leaned back, inhaling the fresh air. Hospital air had always tasted stale to her, probably because she hated them so much. Thus far, they'd come to represent everything she was afraid of, discounting the births of her children, that is.

Time stretched on as she watched the people moving about their daily business. She settled Jace into his car seat, pulling the cover over to block the sun from waking him. She pulled out a book and desperately tried to get hold of her emotions again – she couldn't fall apart now, not when Dean needed her, and especially not when she didn't even know the extent of his condition.

A familiar prickle tickled the back of her neck. She glanced up from her book and froze, shock slamming into her with full force as her eyes went wide as saucers. The book fell to the grass with a soft _thump_.

Dark hair. Devilish blue eyes. A rakish grin and crinkles at the corners of his eyes. The stubborn cleft in his chin, the sweet dimple in his cheek, the brush of his silky hair onto his forehead. Confident, standing there as if everything was perfectly normal, hands tucked into the pockets of his black trench coat, towering over her but smiling softly, patiently waiting for her to recover.

"Hey, baby girl."

"Oh my God," she breathed, choking on the words as a tear slid down her cheeks. "Christo," she breathed, almost silently, his lips curving into a small smile.

Those blue eyes stared back at her, nothing flickering in them at the mention of God. No demon.

Just a man.

But not just any man.

"Chris?"

* * *

**E/N**: That's all for now, folks. You probably hate me right now, but that's okay. I can deal with that.

Don't worry. I'm not leaving you hanging for too long. This story will have a sequel, never fear. Several, actually; my plan is to go through all six seasons, God help me.

I will post a teaser for the next story soon as the next chapter (so expect it if you've alerted this story) along with the date I will be creating the sequel and posting the first chapter. Don't worry, the wait won't be too long. Keep an eye out for it if you're interested: it's going to be called _Fight the Good Fight_. To those of you who don't know, it's named for an awesomely epic song by Triumph. :)

As always, and for the final time in this story,  
**REVIEWS=LOVE**

Seriously, guys. Give me some love here! I've gotten barely any in the last few chapters.  
Review=messaged teaser for sequel. Seriously!

Unless you want me to kill of a kid… or Noah... maybe that will get your attention… *sigh*


	39. Teaser

**A/N: **Teaser for _Fight the Good Fight_! It is now POSTED, so head on over and check it out if interested!

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing, save my OCs.

* * *

**THIS IS NOT A NEW CHAPTER. THIS IS A TEASER FOR MY MILES APART SEQUEL, _FIGHT THE GOOD FIGHT_, NOW POSTED ON MY HOME PAGE.**

**Chapter One  
**Time of Death

**Shiloh County Park (outside Shiloh County Hospital), South Dakota  
**August 5, 2006

Paige's book was on the grass, forgotten, mouth hanging open in shock as she stared up in mingled shock and horror at the man who had haunted her thoughts – literally – for the better part of a year. Her hands were shaking so hard she couldn't even curl them into fists, mind refusing to believe what her eyes were telling her was standing right in front of her.

"Am I dead?" she whispered hoarsely.

Chris' lips tilted into a faint smile, worry fogging his eyes as he looked down at her. He wanted to hug her, but sensed she wasn't quite over the shock of him being alive yet. There was disbelief in her eyes, so he slowly shook his head that no, she was not dead.

"Then am I dreaming?"

"No, Paige," he said gently, reaching out to take one of her shaking hands in his.

Paige stared down at her hand, some of the shock intensifying when she realized his flesh was warm, solid, and very, very real against her own. Her heartbeat was suddenly thundering in her chest as she stared up at him, throat going vice-tight as tears started to pour down her face. She was moving before she could stop herself and threw her arms around his neck, laughing and sobbing in earnest while her entire body started to shake.

"Hey, baby girl," Chris murmured into her ear as he hugged her tightly, doing his best not to choke in her near-stranglehold. He dropped his cheek to her shoulder and held on for all it was worth, hardly daring himself to believe he was standing here. "I put you in shock, didn't I?" he murmured against her hair, letting his own tears of joy fall. It seemed forever that they stayed like that, while she struggled to pull herself together. Hell, he was having much of the same problem. A year of silence and frustration, and now he could see and touch and talk, and it was all very new to him again.

Tears blurred her vision, tears that she frantically wiped away to see his face better. Same Chris – same smile, same eyes, same everything. She put a shaking hand on his cheek, searching his gaze for any clues. "How did this happen? How are you _here_? I…we buried you, Chris," she said brokenly.

"It's a long story," he said gently, pulling her into another tight hug.

"How?" Paige repeated, burrowing her face into his chest. She suddenly felt like she was eight years old again, tripping up stairs only to be held reassuringly in that warm brotherly embrace. A part of her was scarcely daring to believe this was true, but he was as warm and strong as she remembered, and he smelled the same.

Chris pulled back, all serious now. "I can't tell you," he said honestly. "All I can say is there are powers in this world we can hardly imagine, Paige. And for whatever reason, they want me here. With you, with Dean, with our family. I don't know why, and I do know there is some ulterior motive – there always is with, uh, people like this – but for the life of me, I have no idea what that could possibly be."

Paige stared at him, blinking the tears from her eyes. "I don't understand," she said, sniffing and wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. "I don't understand any of this. This doesn't feel real."

"It is," he assured her, dropping a soft kiss to her forehead. "I was never really dead. My body was, but I wasn't. I was…taken…from Hell and placed in a sort of not-world. Meaning, I wasn't dead, but I wasn't exactly alive, either. I was sort of…suspended…I suppose you could say. I could see and hear this world, but I couldn't communicate with the people within it. At least, I couldn't until I practiced."

The shock faded as the gears in Paige's brain started to turn in her head, trying to fit all the pieces of this massive puzzle together. Chris had been resurrected (pinch me I must be dreaming, she added silently), for what purpose, she didn't know. It sounded insane, but in the life of a hunter, literally anything was possible. He wasn't a demon, and he was alive, and honestly, the whole thing wasn't that farfetched, anyway. She'd seen far stranger in her hunting career. There were thousands of resurrection stories, probably the most famous being Jesus.

"Was it…heaven?" Paige whispered, eyes going wide. In all her years, and the years of her father, grandfather, and great-grandfather before her, there had never been a report of an actual, living angel before. Not ever. As far as they could tell, angels hadn't walked the earth for centuries. If they even existed at all. That still remained to be determined. Though, if there were demons, real honest-to-Satan demons, then by default, there sort of had to be angles, right? That was the logical conclusion.

Chris shook his head. "Not completely," he hedged, releasing a slow breath. "All I can tell you is that what dad always told us was true. If there is a Hell, by default, there must be a Heaven. Even if that heaven is exact opposite of what we've been led to believe."


End file.
